War & Piece
by MystryGAB
Summary: A little S5 multi-chapter fic that begins at the end of Emancipation and weaves through the episodes and the possiblity that followed.
1. Chapter 1

_At the request of "Bubbles," my dear friend who wanted a story from Season 5 "before all the crap," and my new pal, Ilona, who just wants me to write, I submit this multi-chapter fic. It begins at the end of the "Emancipation," offering some additions and/or alternatives to several S5 episodes. Hope you enjoy.  
_

_Disclaimer: If I was connected with the show, my life would be different._

* * *

**Emancipation Proclamation**

"Your little game didn't work," House said. "I'm not Foreman, and you're not me."

House looked up from the front desk caught sight of Cuddy through the glass doors of the clinic. He felt his stomach flutter.

Wilson saw the change in his friend's demeanor and turned to see what had caused it.

_Cuddy._

"You wanna talk about her?"

"Nope," House quickly answered, turning abruptly and effectively shutting down any conversation.

"Alright," Wilson said, following behind him as they walked toward the main doors, stepping around a man carrying a bouquet of flowers. "You're gonna be okay, House."

"Good to know," House answered flippantly, but stopped unexpectedly, turning to frown at the man they'd just passed.

"Yes," the nurse was answering his question. "Go right through those doors."

Wilson watched curiously, his eyes darting between House and the man being directed to the clinic.

"In fact, she's right there…"

"Yes, I see her," the man said. "Thanks for your help."

Wilson tried to hide his grin. It was amazing how quickly House could go from noncommittal and aloof to territorial and jealous when it came to Cuddy.

"Who's that?"

"A man."

House scowled. "A jerk, you mean."

"Because he's bringing Cuddy flowers?" Wilson asked, skeptically. "She just lost the baby she was hoping to adopt. It's a nice gesture."

"He's preying on her when she's most vulnerable."

"Ah, of course," Wilson feigned enlightenment. "A man giving her flowers four days after the loss is much more dangerous than the man sticking his tongue down her throat the night it happened."

"I walked away!" House argued defensively, clearly ruffled by the suggestion.

"And why did you walk away, House?"

He tried again to push House to talk about his feelings for Cuddy. The kiss they'd shared had meant something to him - a lot, if he had to venture a guess – because House had been fighting himself for days, torn between what he wanted and the fears that haunted him.

"Go to Hell," House huffed, glaring one last time at the man talking to Cuddy before quickly turning and limping away.

Wilson chuckled.

"Goodnight, House."

H H H

Cuddy knew it was House before she even opened the door.

He'd been avoiding her for days in spite of all her efforts to talk with him, so of course he'd finally find a breakthrough at an ungodly hour.

"It's one o'clock in the morning," she whined as she flung the door open.

"Emergencies don't punch a time clock."

His eyes perused her, taking in her disheveled curls, make-up free face and the way her robe was loosely tied with a slight gap at the front to reveal the pink sheer fabric of her nightie.

"You don't have a case."

She was barefoot and her toes painted a deep red.

"It's a follow-up."

That fabric clung to her curves. The curves he'd held against him only four days ago.

His stomach fluttered…again.

_Dammit!_

"You don't have follow-ups; you have law suits," she quipped, crossing her arms in front of her as she leaned against the door frame.

Her arms were pushing her breasts up and he couldn't stop his eyes from devouring her cleavage.

Cuddy looked at him suspiciously. "Why are you here, House?"

"Wanted to check-in on you," he answered, as if the very act proved his nobility.

"You had a wet dream and needed to come check-out my cleavage?"

"That would be the reason for the dream, not a clean-up response," he pointed out.

She grinned, and her gaze softened.

"You want to talk?" Maybe he was finally ready to deal with what was happening between them, or at least what had happened between them.

"Nope."

And just like that, he dashed hope.

"You just want to check on me?"

"Yep."

"Because you're concerned?"

"Wilson says it's the right thing to do."

"Of course." It was his characteristic deflection. She was tired of trying to bait him into talking to her. "Good night, House."

She moved to close the door, but he blocked her with his cane.

"So you're okay?"

Her eyes searched his, catching a glimpse of sincerity and concern before he nervously looked away.

"No, House. I'm not okay," she said honestly. "I'm hurt and sad."

His eyes locked on hers in an intense stare, surprised by her openness, but more interested in the heart behind her words.

"I'm barren and angry that I'm too damaged to have a baby of my own, and too unlucky to have one any other way. I feel betrayed, and alone, and afraid... and very tired. I'm really, really tired."

His expression turned lost, the same look he'd had just before he kissed her the night she'd lost Joy. God, she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel his arms around her, to drown in that strange combination of danger and safety, of passion and comfort that she only felt with him. She wanted to forget her pain and lose herself in him. But she couldn't risk it. She couldn't risk the inevitable rejection. Not again.

Her heart was an open wound, bruised and raw, and he wasn't even ready to acknowledge what was happening between them, much less actually explore it.

"Go home," she suddenly said, and closed the door on a stunned House.

H H H

Cuddy jumped when the door to her office flung open.

"This is no time for you to start dating," he said, stepping through her office door with his typical rude arrogance and entitlement.

"Go away," Cuddy said without looking up from her the paperwork on her desk. She only had a few minutes to review her notes before a meeting that would determine if they would receive the funding for a new pediatric wing.

"You're too vulnerable to start dating."

"I'm not dating," she responded without emotion. "Now leave."

It was only nine o'clock in the morning, too early for him to even be at work, much less harassing her.

"You're wearing perfume," he pointed out, and she knew he was about to inventory the changes in her appearance to prove his point. She cut him off at the pass.

"My top is unbuttoned an extra button, my heels are an inch higher and I'm not wearing panties," she said. "I'm on the prowl to distract from my grief. You're right. Now go."

"You're not wearing panties?"

Cuddy looked up at him then, amused by his expression (a mix of shock, amazement, curiosity and lasciviousness) and empowered by how quickly she could turn him on.

"You wish." She gave him a teasing grin.

"Along with every other man in this hospital," he quipped and plopped down in the chair in front of her desk. "And some of the women."

"I don't have time to play, House," she said, though she was secretly pleased they were back on somewhat normal ground. At least he wasn't avoiding her, even though there still was a tension beneath the surface that was a bit disarming. "Go see Wilson. Or better yet, do your job."

"My patient is stable and awaiting tests, thank you very much," he said. "And all Wilson does is lecture me about how I should talk to you."

Cuddy tilted her head to the side as she searched his expression, her interest perked by this tidbit.

House wondered if she realized how that move made him want to move his lips along the line from her chin to collar bone.

"Do we need to talk?" she asked, giving him yet another opportunity to let her in, to deal with the elephant in the room and move this thing forward.

"Nope."

_Naturally._

Cuddy sighed.

"And you shouldn't talk on this date tonight, either."

She shook her head. "That will make for an exciting date."

"Ah-Ha! You do have a date!"

"Yes, I have a date," she said. "Puzzle solved. Happy now?"

He was far from happy.

"You should be careful," he said. "You just suffered a loss and some guy with flowers sweeps in pretending to make you feel better, when all he really wants is to get in your panties…if you were wearing any."

Cuddy shook her head as she stood and began gathering the files she would need for her meeting. "If you weren't such a jerk, I'd think you were actually concerned," she said. "And how did you know he brought me flowers?"

"I saw him last night when I was leaving."

She grinned.

"So that's why you came to see me last night."

House rolled his eyes at her flattered expression, even though he felt that annoying flutter in his stomach at the way she looked at him. It was like he was in med school again and she'd just said yes.

"Don't try to make this about me," he said. "This is going to be your problem."

Cuddy smirked. "Since when is going out on a date a problem?"

"Not everyone is going to walk away when you throw yourself at them just because you lost a baby."

Her mouth dropped open, exasperated by his obvious reference.

"I threw myself at you?" Cuddy shook her head, on the verge of laughing.

"Since when did you become a revisionist?" she asked, walking passed him to her office door. "Or does the truth only matter when it doesn't require you to man up."

"So you admit you want me."

Cuddy turned, forcing House to stop abruptly before running into her. She stared at him with fire dancing in her eyes.

"I'm going on a date tonight, House," she said emphatically. "With a man who isn't afraid to talk about his feelings and actually goes after what he wants. And if that happens to involve more than dinner and a night cap…" she shrugged with a flirtatious grin and sashayed out the door.

"This is going to be your shame!" he said, following close behind.

House smiled at the beautiful sway of her hips as she walked down the hall. Her ass really was a piece of art.

"Don't come crying to me when he uses you!"

Cuddy laughed throatily and stepped through the doors of the elevator. "Oh, I won't."

"I can see your thong line, Dr. Cuddy!" House yelled, his voice echoing through the corridors.

She turned to glare at him, but it was difficult to maintain a sense of indignation when his tongue was pressed against his cheek like a rogue and he waggled his brow at her.

_Damn him!_

H H H

They had only just been served their drinks when House barreled up to the table.

"Why Dr. Cuddy! What a surprise?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"You must be Dr. House," her date said.

Only a brief hint of surprise crossed his features before House answered. "She hasn't stop talking about me, huh? She's got it bad."

The man stood. He was only a couple inches shorter than House, slim but muscled, his hair thick and groomed, his eyes a little too green to be real. He was obviously well off, too if his suit and watch revealed anything.

"She warned me an ass would interrupt our dinner," he responded with ease. "I was pretty sure she didn't mean a donkey. Care to join us."

Cuddy caught the slight squint of his eyes, and tried to hide her grin. House was taken aback by the response, though he hid it well.

"We've only just ordered drinks."

"Good move," House said. "It's much better to take advantage of a drunk than a grieving woman."

Cuddy closed her eyes in an attempt to shield her from the embarrassment. Even though she knew what to expect from House, he never ceased to surpass her fears and expectations.

"Is that how you do it, Dr. House?"

"Don't need to," he said, gesturing to his leg. "Women love a man with a cane. It's the gimp game. And I don't have to numb them with booze to get a yes."

The man laughed. "Good thing I don't need alcohol with Lisa," he replied with resounding arrogance. "She likes sex…and me."

Cuddy grinned, resting her chin in her palm as she watched the power play.

House glowered at the man, not at all pleased her date seemed to be a formidable opponent.

"That's why she came to me when she decided to adopt a child."

House flinched, and his jaw grew tense.

Cuddy frowned.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen him react this way when her decision to adopt was mentioned. Had he wanted to be a part of the decision? Had he felt slighted that she'd come to Wilson – and now Charles – instead of him? Cuddy felt an epiphany tickling her psyche.

"This is Charles Cavanaugh," Cuddy said to House when he turned to glare at her. She felt the need to disclose a little truth about their relationship. "He's the lawyer who was going to handle the adoption."

"WILL handle the adoption," he corrected, eyeing her with compassion. "You'll have another chance."

She saw House begin to fidget, looking around the room uncomfortably.

"Isn't that her decision?"

Charles looked at House, surprised by the biting tone of his response.

"Of course," he said. "And I intend to encourage and support her in any way I can."

"And by support you mean…"

"Was there something you needed, House?" Cuddy interrupted.

She could tell by the tension in his jaw and the way he grasped his cane he was moving from annoying and crude to hateful and rude. House was feeling threatened, and she sensed it wasn't just her date that was triggering the response.

He handed her a patient file and began to rattle off symptoms and test results. But his angry eyes never left Charles.

"You want to remove the bone flap?"

"And insert a peritoneal shunt," his tone was flat, missing the enthusiasm of the puzzle.

"Permission from the parents?"

"Yep." He popped the "p" for effect.

She gave him back the file. "Do it," she said. "But I want one of your team monitoring her at all times."

"Sounds intense," Charles said lightly, completely unaffected by the daggers House had been tossing his way.

"Doctor stuff," House said. "You won't understand even after you try your hand at it."

Charles laughed. "Ah, but with my doctoring, I don't have to understand to enjoy it."

House blankly stared at Cuddy before turning to leave.

"Is he disappointed or defeated?" Charles asked in a conspiring whisper.

"I'm not sure even he knows the answer to that."

"He's a handful."

"Tell me about it," Cuddy grumbled.

"But hot…in a bad-boy-rip-your-heart-out-with-the-best-orgasm-of-your-life kinda way."

"You have no idea."

Charles laughed. "Honey, I just felt the heat between you two, so I can certainly imagine."

"How could you notice anything beyond the pissing contest?"

"You're kidding right?" he said. "The energy when you two are together takes over the room."

"So, I've been told," she sighed. "But he's proof where there's heat, there's not always fire."

"Don't kid yourself," he said. "That man's a volcano; he's going to blow any day now. And you, girlfriend, are going to have his lava all over you."

"You're disgusting." But she chuckled, albeit with more excitement than she should feel.

"And you adore me."

"Yes, I do," she said, reaching across the table to take his hand.

"That gift of intuitive insight and observation you told me about? It goes right out the window when there's a threat of losing you."

"He doesn't have me."

"Oh, yes he does," Charles laughed. "You're stuck in a perpetual House purgatory."

"Waiting to see if I'll end up in Heaven or Hell?"

"Either one would be pretty great, though, huh?"

"Oh, God," Cuddy groaned, and buried her face in her hands.

"Look on the bright side, sweetie," he said. "These little moves he's making, as frustrating and vague as they seem, are a proclamation of intent."

"His intent to drive me crazy?

Charles grinned. "His intent to break those chains and find the freedom to get his girl!" he said dramatically.

"You're and idiot," she said with a hint of sadness. "And I'm pathetic."

"You are!" Charles exclaimed. "But then, look at me! Sucking up to my client-friend in the hope she'll finally introduce me to a certain cute oncologist."

Cuddy laughed. "It's hopeless," she said. "Wilson isn't gay."

Charles grinned lecherously. "You're sure about that?"

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all of the lovely reviews. I'm very grateful for the enthusiastic response. _

_This story continues to weave through S5. This chapter begins after the episode "Last Resort."  
_

_Disclaimer: I don't own House._

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**Last Hope**

"_You want a relationship?"_

It was an honest question.

Of course it was. She'd been honest with him all along, while he'd been sidestepping and mocking, tossing red herrings in an attempt to throw her off the scent.

"_God no. Just trying to follow your logic."_

Now, that was a clear answer. A lie, but a definite answer.

House gulped the last swallow of scotch as he recalled the conversation. Instead of the usual burn of the liquid, he felt the anticipation of the buzz to come, a well-deserved emotional numbing.

He poured himself another shot, then dropped to the sofa and propped his leg on the coffee table. The ache had turned into a pulsating pain.

"_This is why you and I can't be a… thing."_

He was losing her. He'd felt it for a while. Since he'd first found out she was adopting a baby, and that she'd been keeping it from him. For a brief moment the night they'd kissed, he'd felt safe again. They'd connected through the pain; that invisible thread of communication and knowing they always fought to ignore had surrounded them, and in that moment they were one.

He'd thought he was doing the right thing by walking away. It wasn't easy. He'd wanted her, and there was no doubt she'd felt the same. Her response was…amazing. It may have been triggered by sadness, but it was born of desire.

It scared him.

And so he'd responded the way he always did - with childish games and pranks - waking her up at all hours of the morning, interrupting her dates, and pushing her away with every smart-assed remark that undermined the bond between them.

Jason could have killed him today. Things could have gone very different with a man so desperate, and with nothing to live for. Cuddy would have been left with the memory of him choosing a puzzle over the lives of others. Oh, and his final parting gift? The booby trapped drawer that had placed him in her office in the first place.

He was an idiot. No wonder another man had made his way into her arms.

It was ironic really. He'd felt that brief moment of satisfaction when he'd heard the crashing sounds of the drawer contents falling onto her lap and down to the floor. He'd felt her eyes bore into his back, but didn't have a time to determine if she was irked or angry.

"Dr. House," Charles had nodded to him as he passed and entered Cuddy's office.

And that quickly, his grin had turned to a scowl.

"I came as soon as I heard," Charles had said to her. "Are you okay?"

House closed his eyes against the memory of Cuddy stepping around her desk and into the man's arms. He'd been unable to hear what she said as Charles enveloped her in a soothing hug, but he'd clearly seen the affection between them.

It should have been him. He should have been the one comforting her, supporting her…holding her. If he wasn't so self-centered, so closed-off and hardened to basic human kindness. If he wasn't such a coward.

"_You're afraid to take a chance because it's too big a chance. If it doesn't work with her, then maybe there's no one out there."_

Wilson was right. He'd woke up from that coma after the deep brain stimulation to find Amber dead, Wilson gone and Cuddy at his side. She hadn't left him. After everything he did, and all the things he didn't do, she was there. And he'd been afraid.

He'd been circling her, fighting to keep her in his sphere of impact, while playing games that were sure to keep her at an emotional distance. It had worked for months, years really. So well that he'd missed the fact he was losing his grip on her. She was moving on, toward hopes and dreams that didn't include him.

Until they'd kissed.

He could still taste her, feel her pressed against him as her tongue ravaged him. The memory had tormented him for days. It didn't matter that he'd avoided the conversation and made light of what had happened. They both knew the ground had shifted beneath them.

"_No. I'm done. I can't go through that again."_

She was giving up her dream of having a baby. The dream that was pulling her away from him.

He'd kissed her.

"_I was emotional because of the adoption falling through. And you actually let your human side show for a moment. That is why we kissed."_

It was more than that.

"_You got bitten the night you kissed her. Your itching always gets worse when you think about her. You need to address this."_

His leg was pounding now.

"_House? Are you okay?"_

He should have been asking her that question, not sulking around the hospital, obsessing over a mosquito.

"_Any relationship that doesn't end in a breakup ends in death. Everything falls apart in the end. That's your worldview. The corollary, which you keep forgetting, is that you have to grab any chance for happiness."_

Wilson nailed it. He'd spent years destroying any hope of happiness, and nurturing the misery that had become a fortress around his heart. He was incapable of being happy. But she wasn't. She could still find peace; she could still have her dream.

She deserved to be happy. She didn't deserve to be jerked around by a man who would only trap her in his dark world.

House took one last swallow of scotch before grabbing his keys. He winced with every step as he limped out the door.

H H H

"You're kidding, right?"

Cuddy leaned on the knob as she glared at him.

She hadn't bothered to tie the sash of her robe, so it hung open to reveal the thin baby-doll she wore. It barely reached the top of her thighs. And her legs were bare! How often had he fantasized about those legs wrapped around him?

House felt a flutter of excitement in his groin and forced his eyes to move away from her thighs, but then he caught a glimpse of her nipples through the fabric.

_Oh, God…_

"Seriously?" she asked, exasperated.

He knew he'd been busted; caught ogling her like a teenage boy. But it wasn't as if he could resist the gravitational pull of her body. Seeing her dressed like that guaranteed he'd get sucked into the vortex of lust.

House felt the flush creep up his neck.

"The laws of science don't stop just because you…"

"What do you want, House?"

_You._

"With you dressed like that?" he quipped. "I have a list."

Cuddy jerked her robe closed and glared at him, her eyes shooting a fire that wasn't desire.

"It wasn't enough that you risked the lives of everyone in that room today," she said. "That you totally enabled a terrorist and destroyed the hospital…"

"It was just a couple of rooms…"

"You were playing games with people's lives just so you could solve a puzzle!"

"It's who I am…"

House shifted uncomfortably, gritting his teeth at the pain that shot through his thigh as he braced for her attack. This wasn't going as he'd planned.

"You're a coward!"

House flinched.

"You're selfish and self-destructive," she hissed. "You'd rather put yourself in danger than talk about what's really going on in that messed up head of yours. You'd rather face a gunshot to the head thn talk about what you're feeling!"

"Oh, isn't that priceless," he bit back at her. "You're as narcissistic as ever, I see. Everything's always got to circle back to you somehow."

"This is about you, House," she said. "And YOU'RE patterns. You don't know how to deal with what you're feeling, so you go all self-destructive and take everyone else down with you."

"So what you're really upset about is that I could have died before you could spin your little happy-ever-after-fantasy around me."

"Go to hell!"

She moved to slam the door in his face, but he blocked her, wincing in pain and stumbling slightly.

Cuddy reached for him, her anger dissipating as quickly as it flared.

"Your leg is hurting?"

"Of course it's hurting," he spit out as she pulled him through the door. "I have a chunk of muscle missing, and while you were building up reasons why I'm such a jackass I was being terrorized! You have no idea…"

Cuddy gripped the front of his shirt and shoved him against the wall.

He dropped his cane at the sudden move and grabbed her arms for balance.

And then she kissed him.

He was too shocked to react at first. But Cuddy was pressed up against him. Kissing him. And her tongue was…

House moaned when the heat of her finally registered.

Cuddy didn't know what possessed her. Maybe it was the stress of the day, the powerlessness and the danger of it all. Maybe it was the fear of losing him, or the frustration of their ongoing cat and mouse game. Maybe she just wanted to shut him up, to force him to face the truth…to face her.

As his hands loosened their grip on her arms, moving along her back and gripping her waist, she only knew how good he felt.

Her hands moved to his jaw, her fingers moving along his scruff as she sought for a better angle to taste and explore him. He was an equal participant, his tongue eagerly dueling with hers, vying for position while savoring taste and sensation.

His hands cupped her rear and pulled her into his growing erection. Cuddy moaned and ground against him, igniting a fire that moved from the tips of her breast to her moist core. The intensity of the response startled her, and she pulled away from him, taking an unsteady step back to stare at him with wide eyes.

House tried to focus through the haze of desire. She was breathing hard, staring at his mouth with a mixture of passion and confusion that he understood all too well.

Cuddy was mesmerized by the way his mouth hung slightly opened, his lower lip still wet from their kiss. She wanted to pull him down the hall, into her bedroom, and spend the night fulfilling every fantasy she'd ever had of this man.

"_God no. Just trying to follow your logic."_

Why did his words haunt her so?

She took another step back and pushed a hand through her hair in an attempt to compose herself.

He didn't want a relationship with her. And she wanted more than a one night stand. They'd already been that route; it wasn't enough this time. It hadn't been enough then.

House leaned heavily against the wall, and Cuddy noticed his leg was starting to give.

She bent to retrieve his cane.

"Go sit down," she instructed, gesturing to the living room. "I'll be there in a minute."

House watched her disappear through the kitchen door before moving to the living room as she'd instructed.

"_You don't know how to deal with what you're feeling, so you go all self-destructive and take everyone around down with you."_

He leaned his head against the back of the sofa, eyes closed as he considered her words.

She knew him well; he sometimes felt too well. There was a kind of security in knowing that someone understood you, 'got you' on a level that didn't require explanation, and yet they were willing to stick it out with you. It was also unnerving to realize any masks you wore, or walls you built, would only be temporary. You were always susceptible to that scrutiny and the inevitable comprehension.

He felt something brush against his leg and opened his eyes.

She was there. In front of him. She'd tied her robe closed, he sadly noted.

"Do you need an ice pack?" she asked softly, as she handed him one of the drinks she was holding.

"No," he answered, surprised to find it was true. The pain had substantially eased. Wilson would have a field day with that. One kiss from Cuddy was better than 20 Vicodin.

He took a swallow as she sat down beside him.

"Whiskey?" He turned to her, surprised.

"I keep it around for gunshot victims and emergency surgeries."

He turned his head to look at her. She was close to him, one of her legs tucked under her as she followed his lead and leaned wearily against the back of the sofa.

"Cheers?"

She tapped her glass to his and took a sip of the whisky, wincing at the taste and shaking her head at the sting as it slid down her throat. This obviously wasn't her drink of choice.

They sat quietly for what seemed like minutes, House staring into the now empty glass, and Cuddy watching the way his fingers moved along the rim.

"That was nice," he finally said.

"It was shocking."

"I'm not talking about the whiskey."

Her eyes met his. "I'm not either."

There was a kind of phenomenon that occurred when their eyes locked like this. It wasn't just that everything around them faded away, it was the transition in the air: the electricity and the weight. It was a palpable change that left him both confident and uncertain, uncomfortable and at ease.

_She's so beautiful._

The line of her chin. The slight pucker of her lips. The way her hair curled around her face. The way her grey eyes looked at him with such tenderness…and acceptance. It took his breath away.

"You shouldn't give up," he said.

The shy way he looked at her would be her undoing.

"What?" She frowned slightly.

House put glass down on the table and shifted to face her as he relaxed back into the cushions again.

"You shouldn't give up on adopting," he said.

Her eyes widened. She hadn't expected this.

He could see the nervous defense immediately kick into place.

"I can't go through that again."

"You can."

"You don't know, House," she argued, but her voice was soft. Sad. "It's really hard.

He wasn't sure when she'd taken his hand, but he watched as she moved her fingers along his and slowly entwined their fingers.

"There's all this hope and joy," she said. And her eyes filled with water, though it didn't seem as if she were about to cry. There was just a deep sadness that he understood. "You have that chance…You feel that moment of happiness and awe when you finally get what you want…"

She squeezed his hand. He wasn't sure if she realized it.

"And then it's gone."

He squeezed back. His thumb slid back and forth along hers in a soothing rhythm.

"It's a risk," he said. "But that chance is worth it."

Cuddy frowned. She was still raw from the experience, still feeling the loss and mourning her own physical failures that caused her to be so dependent on someone else for her dreams.

"As if you'd know," she said with more bite than she'd intended. "It's not as if you've taken an emotional risk in…forever."

She expected him to bite back. Instead he shrugged.

"I'm a coward," he said.

Cuddy felt the guilt surge through her at his words.

"But you're the bravest person I know," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. The sincerity of his words took her by surprise.

"You go after what you want," he continued. "You do what needs to be done. You don't care about rules, or prejudice, or roadblocks. You just do it. It's how you got where you are so fast. It's why you're so good at what you do."

"That's in my career," she said. "I'm a complete failure in my social life, as you well know."

"You have friends."

"I'm alone."

"There's any number of people who would drop everything to be there for you."

"And yet…"

_I'm alone._

It hung in the air.

"No one would ever leave you to die," he said.

Cuddy puzzled over his words. Was that meant to be comforting or an insight into him?

"You can't give up, Cuddy."

Why did this matter? Why did he suddenly care if she had a baby when he'd mocked her in the first place?

She'd spent the last few days trying to put it all behind her. She'd spent the last few days thinking of him. His kiss had reignited dormant dreams and passion.

"Are we ever going to happen?"

He jerked slightly at the question and swallowed hard.

Her eyes didn't waver from his as she waited for an answer.

For a moment she thought he was gathering strength, preparing his words. For a moment she thought they were actually getting somewhere.

"This isn't about us," he finally said. "It's about you."

"It's always about us."

She pulled her hand away from his.

"What's this all about, House? Why are you here?"

His lips twitched and he averted his eyes.

_He's not going to tell me._

The frustration in her began to rise again.

"What kind of game are you playing?"

"It's not a game," he mumbled.

"Everything's a game with you."

"Here we go," he released an exaggerated sigh as if he were settling in for a lecture.

_He's such a child._

Cuddy stood and began to pace. He was a child. Emotionally, House was a child. That's why he'd been upset at her adopting. He felt threatened. He was going to be sharing her attention with someone who may be needier, may be more important than him.

"Is that why you want me to try again?" She asked the question as if he'd heard her thoughts. "You can't face your feelings so you're pushing me to do something that would ensure we could never happen."

"You're logic is a faulty as ever," he said, awkwardly standing to face her.

Cuddy glared at him. He was trying to use his size to intimidate her, to control the conversation. As if that ever worked!

"You don't want a baby," she accused. "You'd never want to have a baby."

"I'm not the one adopting."

"And if I adopt, it will prove we were never meant to be," she said.

"You're delusionary."

"You're miserable."

"I never denied that."

He leaned over to get his cane and Cuddy could see he was ready to escape. Would they ever have more than a few minutes of raw truth and sincere authenticity between them?

"You want to sabotage any chance we have," she said. "That's the only reason you're encouraging me to try again."

"I want you to be happy."

"You don't want me happy," she bit back. "You just want to be safe."

His eyes locked on hers. In that moment, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she was both right and wrong. He was afraid. He was afraid being with him would mean giving up everything else that made her happy. He was afraid that being with him would make her miserable. He was afraid to give in to his feelings, to risk his heart again. But he was more afraid that she would risk hers with tragic results.

_He cares. He cares about me._

"Goodnight," he said.

She watched him walk to the door, trying to read the body language in the way he slumped and the strength of his limp. He was the most difficult man she'd ever met, and she was falling more in love with him every impossible day.

"You're too late, House."

But he was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the continued enthusiasm for this story. This chapter takes place during Big Baby. I did use a few lines from the actual episode, but adapted the scene a bit.

Disclaimer: I don't own House, but when I get excited about what could have been, I sure wish I did.

* * *

**Baby Steps**

"_I don't know what you want!"_

He could still hear the desperation in her voice. The entire episode had been on replay in his head for the past hour.

"_I will give you anything that you want! I don't know what it is! Tell me! Please, just help me! Please!"_

The kid had stopped crying, which had only sent Cuddy into the beginning phases of hysteria.

"_Really? That worked?"_

She'd been both laughing and crying when House had disconnected the line to finish out the surgery.

He stood at her door now, uncertain in what condition he may find her.

"I can't take both of you right now," she said to him, but she left the door open as she turned away, disappearing into the living room.

The baby was crying again.

House followed her, closing the door behind him as he took in the situation.

Cuddy was alternating between rocking and bouncing the child, making soothing noises and offering a bottle. The brat wasn't having it.

House had to hand it to her: Cuddy wasn't giving up. But that wasn't enough.

"She's a baby, Cuddy," he said. "Not a burden."

"She's been crying for three hours," she snapped. "That pretty much falls under burden at this point."

"Ah," he said, tapping his cane with his usual arrogance. "You can't figure out what she needs and that makes her the problem?"

"I'm doing everything I'm supposed to do!"

"And yet she's having a meltdown," he pointed out the obvious.

Cuddy wanted to scream, to throw something at him, but the baby started whaling even louder.

"You can't blame her because you're too wrapped up in your own ideas of right and wrong and what is 'supposed' to be done to figure out what she actually needs."

Cuddy froze, staring at him with a mix of anger and defeat.

"I'm not abusing her, House," she said defensively.

The baby's little arms and legs were flailing and she released a shrilling scream.

"You're expecting her to tell you what she needs," he said. Cuddy caught a hint of something in his tone that she couldn't quite identify. Disappointment? Frustration? Resentment?

"She's incapable of telling you what she needs or how she feels. You have to help her, not just leave her lost in this misery."

House reached for the baby.

"I'm not neglecting her!" Cuddy turned away from him, shielding the baby from his outstretched hands.

"Seriously?" She was like a child unwilling to share her toy, but not wanting to play with it either.

"You may not be dumping her in an ice bath to shut her up," he snapped at Cuddy. "Or tossing her outside to sleep, but withholding basic kindness and affection is pretty shitty."

"I'm not withholding anything!"

She felt the tears well up in her eyes, and her body began to tremble.

"I've been here the whole time."

This time when House reached for the baby, she relinquished her hold.

"I'm doing everything I can do."

"Then stop doing," he said. "And start giving."

Cuddy stared at him, feeling a bit shell-shocked. There was something quite profound in his words.

"Life isn't about to-do lists and how-to books," he said. "Humans are more complex than the rules of propriety."

His eyes were locked on the baby in the silence, as if some mind meld were taking place.

_Silence._

Cuddy took a deep breath. She couldn't believe it. She'd stopped crying. The baby had stopped crying.

"Babies don't care about how much you know or how much you've prepared," he said. "Their brains aren't developed enough to be impressed by your delusions of grandeur."

Cuddy scowled. He was insulting her, but there was something insightful to what he was saying. So, she bit back her retort.

"And they don't even know what a game is, much less how to play the one you're playing."

"I'm not playing games," she said. "I'm trying…"

"Trying to prove something you don't even understand," he snapped. "How the hell is she supposed to get it?"

"This is my fault?"

House stared blankly at her.

_Of course it's my fault. She's a baby! _

Cuddy felt the dam about to break and closed her eyes against the pressure of emotions surging through her.

"Go take a shower," House said.

She was a wreck. Her hair was roughly tied in a semblance of a pony tail. She wore no make-up, so the dark circles under her eyes were prevalent. Her t-shirt was stained with puke, her yoga pants were sprinkled with powder, and her feet were bare…

_Black toenails._

He grinned.

"What?" Cuddy frowned, as confused at his sudden grin as his instruction.

"You're a mess."

"Thanks," she answered dryly.

She obviously didn't understand. A Cuddy who had lost her grip on that tightly wound control of hers was quite a turn-on. So was the Cuddy who hid the symbol of her wild side in her do-me pumps.

"Take a hot shower," he repeated. "Relax. Let yourself breathe. I'll take care of Rachel."

_He called her Rachel._

Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped seeing the little girl as "Rachel" and had just seen the crying baby.

_I'm going to make a terrible mother._

"Wash off the mask while you're in there," House said softly. "The better mom is the one who's real."

H H H

Cuddy cried.

As the water rained through her hair, over her face and down her body, she cried.

She cried at her failure to soothe the child she'd wanted so desperately. She cried because House – a man with no desire to be a father and no interest in children at all – had the magic touch. She cried because she'd lost him to have that child and now didn't feel anything.

Cuddy shriveled onto the shower floor and crouched beneath the spray.

Is that what was wrong? Is that what was happening?

That little child was a bundle of perception without logic and understanding, or even context. She was just feeling.

Was she sensing some kind of resentment? Bitterness?

The past few months had been a rollercoaster ride without control settings. Her emotions had left her spent. She'd barely had time to digest them before she'd taken on the care of a child.

She'd been focusing on one thing: getting that baby. It was a part of her dreams. Well, her newly discovered dreams. She'd spent years focusing on her career before finally realizing there was a dormant dream with a time clock. She'd wanted a family: A husband and a child of her own. After too many disastrous dates and too few prospects, she'd given up on the husband. She'd desperately tried to grab hold of the one remaining piece of that dream. But her body had betrayed her.

Adoption had been a reasonable alternative. But she'd been willing to give up on it after one failed attempt.

"_You're quitting. Just like you quit IVF."_

"_Just like that."_

She remembered his words after she'd lost Joy. House had seen something was askew even then. She was giving up to easy. Why?

"_What you want, you run away from. What you need, you don't have a clue._"

Had she been running? Disillusioned by a life that didn't look like she'd expected, had she run from the alternate view of the same dream?

But she wasn't running now. She had Rachel. She was committed to the adoption, in spite of it being early in the process. Of course, House was right. She had an out. She was still just a foster parent. She could still back out and let social services adopt the baby out to someone else. But she didn't want that. She wanted to be a mother. Dammit! She wasn't running!

Cuddy sighed and pulled herself up off the shower floor.

What she was doing is spinning in circles. He'd done this to her.

She began to lather on the body wash as she thought about him.

Everything was so screwed up between them. She wished they could regain their footing and return to normal ground, at least to the expected insanity they'd shared before things had gotten so…weird.

She'd been so frustrated after he'd encouraged her to adopt, convinced he was using her desire for a child as a means to push her away. She'd responded by acting out – like a child – in a way only he would understand. Certainly no one around them understood it. She'd reduced herself to his level of pranks and games, and of course, he'd retaliated in equally childish fashion, as expected. That is until she'd pushed him again to admit what was happening between them.

She flushed at the memory, embarrassed by her desperate attempt to get his attention after he'd clearly said he didn't want a relationship with her. She'd been convinced it was lie. Then he'd grossly objectified her with his snide remarks and despicable groping. He'd successfully undermined everything she believed was between them.

But then he'd surprised her with her desk from school.

_Then called up a hooker._

She should be disgusted. Instead, she felt the same way she'd felt when she'd come to thank him for the desk and seen him with that girl: jealous and hurt. He just didn't seem to feel she was worth the trouble. With the way she felt right now, maybe he was right.

Cuddy stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, grabbing another for her hair.

He didn't want a relationship with her. He'd let her go. That was clear. She needed to accept that and stop searching for signs of hope in every word he said.

"_She's incapable of telling you what she needs or how she feels. You have to help her, not just leave her lost in this misery."_

He was talking about Rachel, right?

"_You may not be dumping her in an ice bath to shut her up, or tossing her outside to sleep, but withholding basic kindness and affection is pretty shitty."_

That had been personal. She'd sensed it the moment he'd said it, known – deep in her gut – he was upset by the situation for more personal reasons than what appeared at first glance.

Cuddy jumped at the knock on the door; she gasped and gripped the towel closer around her when the door flung open.

"You could at least wait until I say come-in!"

"Counterproductive," he said. "Since I wanted to see you naked."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, but felt that familiar flutter of excitement in her stomach.

"Your timing is off."

House was staring at her, his eyes following the line of her body along the seam of the towel as it knotted at her cleavage and down to where it stopped at the top of her thighs.

She felt breathless and warm. His pupils dilated and his nostrils flared as a primal lust seemed to slowly shroud his body like the flush down his neck.

It had been weeks since she'd felt this tension. Not the sparks that flew when they argued or when they teased, but the raw sexual tension that hovered between foreplay and initiation.

House stepped into the bathroom.

"Rachel?" Her voice was husky and she fought to regain her composure.

He was in her space, standing too close and yet not close enough. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel his body pressing into hers again.

House inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, a mix of body wash and arousal.

"Asleep." He finally answered her question. His brain was delayed, clouded by lust and fear.

Everything had changed between them, and yet it was the same. It was so right, and so impossible.

Cuddy held her breath when he touched her, running his fingers along the side of her jaw to her chin. She instinctively gripped the towel tighter, afraid it would fall as her hands began to tremble, but also wishing it would. Maybe that would trigger a more aggressive response from him.

His eyes traced her features. He could see she'd been crying, releasing the pent-up emotions of the day. Her breathing was labored, and her lips slightly parted from the sparks igniting between them.

_So beautiful._

He could never get enough of her. He knew that. She was his forever. But he would never be enough for her. It would never work. He couldn't risk losing what little he had of her.

House stepped back and away from her, dropping his hand before he did anything stupid.

Cuddy wanted to scream.

"I need to go," he said, and turned before she could utter a protest…or a thank you.

H H H

She found him on the Eames chair in his office, his leg propped on the ottoman.

"Move your feet," she said, as she stepped up to the chair.

It had been several hours since he'd left her home. She'd been frustrated by his abrupt departure, but had found herself replaying his earlier comments in her head.

"_She's incapable of telling you what she needs or how she feels. You have to help her, not just leave her lost in this misery."_

She was certain he was speaking of himself as much as Rachel. He couldn't respond to her the way he did and not feel something real for her. There were times he'd give her a glimpse behind those walls of his and she knew with great certainty that he didn't just care for her, but was falling as deeply in love with her as she was with him. But he was trapped, unable to give her any more than just a glimpse. He needed her help; he needed her not to give up on him like she had done IVF…like she'd been willing to do with the adoption.

He hadn't been pushing her away by encouraging her to adopt, he'd been begging her to prove she had the perseverance her to fight for him…no matter how difficult.

"You decided to keep her," he said as he watched her sit on the ottoman, Rachel happily gurgling in her arms. "Thank you for telling me. You can go now."

"We connected," Cuddy said.

"Congratulations."

Cuddy smiled at him.

"Thank you," she said. And he knew she was sincere.

"You dropped the pretense and let nature take its course," he said. "You've had a chemical reaction and now she's…"

"Are you trying to annoy me?"

"I'm trying to explain you."

Cuddy shook her head. "You're testing me," she challenged him. "But a baby is not a pet. You don't bring one home to see if you can be responsible enough to handle something bigger. Or someone bigger."

House froze, his usual fidgeting momentarily stilled by her words.

_Bingo!_

"You want to hold her," Cuddy asked, but didn't wait for a response. "Come here. Come say hi."

House took the baby in his hands, awkwardly holding her in front of him, in stark contrast to the way he'd held her earlier.

"You think we'll bond?"

Cuddy grinned. "You already did."

"You wish."

"Maybe."

House looked at her, trying to discern her current state of mind. She looked good, still tired around the eyes, but more refreshed. And at peace.

Rachel burped loudly and House flinched as her vomit landed on his chin and dripped down his neck.

Cuddy laughed.

"Is that cute?"

"A little," she said, handing him a napkin and taking Rachel from him.

"If I threw up on you, you'd be pissed."

"Your puke isn't as cute," she said, then pushed forward with more boldness. "And we should be sharing a different kind of bodily fluid."

House quirked a brow.

"Something between the hips?"

Cuddy grinned saucily.

"Your hips are the reason for the failure of babies and men," he said, wiping the mess from his neck and shirt. "If babies gestated just a little longer, their stomach sphincter would fully mature. But, no, we have to walk upright, which means that baby's head is too big for mommy's hips...And by the way, your hips may be an evolutionary improvement."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "We'll never know."

House paused in his dissertation, checking to see if she'd gotten hurt or offended by that comment, realizing he may be pouring salt into an open wound through his nervous rambling.

"So we've evolved to find baby puke cute?" she asked, following his insane logic.

House released the breath he'd been holding.

"Otherwise we'd kill them all before they became functional," he said, then froze, his eyes glassing over in a look she knew well.

"Bonding's over," he said, and she knew he had just had an epiphany about his current case. "I've got to go see another baby."

"House," she called as he reached the door.

He turned to look at her.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She thought he saw a glimpse of relief, but then he nodded and disappeared down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again for all of the amazing reviews and private messages you guys have sent. It really means a lot to me. _

_I apologize for the delay. Here is the next chapter. It begins at the end of Saviors, after Amber appears. _

_Disclaimer: You know the deal. House is not mine. *cries*_

* * *

**Desperate**

"So which was it?"

She had barely opened the door when he spoke.

"Why does this not surprise me?" she sighed. "It's like you're on some kind of sadistic schedule."

"A booty call without the booty," he responded as he stepped through the door and followed her into the living room. "Except in your case, it's double the booty."

She dropped down on the couch and scowled up at him, but he was cautiously looking around.

"Double the booty without the call," he said.

He was distracted. She noticed a nervous, almost anxious look in his eyes as he glanced over her shoulder and to the corner of the room. But it was gone just as quickly as she'd seen it, replaced by relief and devilment.

He squinted at her then, and gave her an infuriatingly sexy grin. She loved it when he looked at her that way, and she hated that she loved it. Would she ever grow immune?

House snapped his fingers as if an idea just occurred to him. "Although, I could be convinced to service…"

"In your dreams," she said.

"You sought me out today!" he pointed at her with his cane.

"And yet, you are standing in my living room," she answered drolly.

She was wearing her grey robe tonight. Tied closed around her, he sadly noted. As she crossed her arms and legs though, the fabric slid to the side to offer a nice glimpse of her thigh. Oh, the legs that launched a thousand fantasies.

"You wanted to know what was going on with Cameron."

"I usually do like to know what's going on with my staff."

"This wasn't about keeping your fingers on the pulse of your staff," he said. "This was about keeping your fingers on my staff."

"My fingers haven't been on your staff."

"But you want them to be."

"No," she corrected in an overly tolerant voice. "YOU want them to be."

"You want me to want them to be."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No more than usual," he immediately answered, and came to sit down on the coffee table in front of her.

"Make yourself at home," she said dryly.

"Admit it, Cuddy," he ignored her comment, maintaining that single-minded focus on his current puzzle. "You were trying to find out if Cameron was giving up the one down under for another chance to go down on me."

"Who's going down on you?"

House swirled around quickly at the sound of his voice.

Charles swaggered into the living room and plopped down on the couch next to Cuddy.

"No one," Cuddy answered lightly, a little too comfortable with the man for House's liking. "Did we wake you?"

"I never sleep well when the smell of sex is in the air."

Charles grinned at Cuddy. She tried not to laugh. She knew he was teasing her again about the sexual chemistry that charged the air when House was in the room with her. House, however, wasn't in on that joke.

"What are you doing here?"

Charles tried not to laugh at the scowl on his face as he gripped his cane so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I was sleeping," he said. "Now I'm thinking a night cap is in order."

"Make mine a double," House demanded.

"Oh." Charles only mouthed the words and stared at him a beat before turning to Cuddy. "Is he staying?"

"No."

"Yes."

They answered simultaneously.

Charles made a popping sound with his lips.

"Well, that's clear," he said and placed his hand on Cuddy's thigh, tapping it lightly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she gave him a reassuring smile.

House grit his teeth as he watched them. The man sat too close, and touched too much.

He quickly moved forward, wedging his knee between them.

Cuddy could almost smell the testosterone. She didn't know if she should laugh or scream.

"Why don't I get us all a drink?" she said instead. "God knows I need one."

She'd barely left the room when House turned on him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Charles patiently pointed out. "But I'm staying with her a few days while they finish up a renovation at my apartment."

"How convenient."

"At least I have an excuse."

"**I don't like him."**

House jerked slightly and turned toward the sound of her voice.

"**He's obviously baiting you**," Amber said.

"And what are you doing here so late, Dr. House?"

"Sickness and disease don't punch a time clock," House grumbled, too distracted to offer a better response.

"**That's it?**" she taunted. "**You can do better than that.**"

House grimaced. He'd thought it had been a kind of waking dream, a momentary illusion or a freak ignition in his brain brought about by exhaustion, and stress.

"You're not here about a patient," Charles said. "You're pining."

House glared at him. He didn't like this guy, either.

"Pining implies emotion…as in caring," House said. "I don't have a heart. Cuddy can tell you that."

Charles laughed.

"**He's enjoying this way too much.**"

House agreed with Amber.

_It's not Amber._

He felt disconcerted.

"Is that what Lisa will say?" Charles teased. "You're the Tin Man looking for a heart?"

"Who said I'm looking?" House retorted.

"**He's gay.**"

House tried to ignore her.

_She's not real. This is just a trick of my mind. A result of too many days without enough sleep._

"You're right," Charles said. "You're not looking. You already have a heart. She's pouring you a drink right now."

"**Busted.**" Amber mocked him as she began moving around the room. "**He's got your number.**"

"Too bad for you," Charles grinned, and confidently spread his arms out along the back of the sofa. "I'm already here. Guess I got to her first."

House felt the sucker punch of an unwelcomed déjà vu. Lucas had said something similar to him not too long ago. It felt like a lifetime ago. How much time had he wasted?

Amber laughed. "**A socially inept idiot and a flaming queen are your competition? Maybe you really are losing it.**"

"You mean you got her spare room first," House said, continuing to ignore the vision of Wilson's dead girlfriend. "Welcome to the friend zone. That sticky palm welcomes you."

"**That's disgusting.**"

_You're not real!_

House tried to will Amber away.

"Aren't we cocky for a man who's been unable to get his girl for what? 20 years?"

"**How does he know that?**"

_How does he know that?_

"You should stop wasting your time pissing on trees and find other uses for that…ahem…cane of yours."

"**I told you he was gay,**" Amber said, stepping up behind House. "**He knows he's not man enough for her.**"

House heard a shuffling noise and saw Charles look in the direction of the dining room. But he was frozen, unable to process what was going on around him much less respond.

"**Go get her, Tiger.**" Amber whispered in his ear.

House gulped. He'd come here to be free, drawn by some invisible, magnetic force to a place of safety. Of sanity. Surely being with Cuddy, being who they were together would clear things up, realign his universe. But Amber was still there. A ghost. A nemesis.

Cuddy's face held a worried frown as she handed House the glass. His face was ashen; his body tense and still. He looked like hell.

"House?"

Her voice seemed to bring him back from whatever nightmare had momentarily entrapped him, but she was worried. Something was off.

He stared at her, his blue eyes wide and wary.

"Are you okay?" she asked, growing concerned.

Charles slipped up beside her, holding the glass of wine she'd given him in one hand as he caressed her back with the other.

"I'll leave you alone with Dr. Jekyll and Hyde here," he said. "Call me if you need reinforcements."

Cuddy barely acknowledged him; she was totally focused on House.

"Is it your leg?" She asked, trying to understand what had brought on this sudden change in him. "Are you hurting?"

House jerked his head to the side, waiting for Amber's taunting voice.

Silence.

"House?" Cuddy gently touched his shoulder, becoming more worried as the seconds passed.

Amber was gone.

House looked at the hand on his shoulder and followed the line of her arm until he met her gaze.

"You're not sleeping with him."

She frowned, puzzled by the sudden shift in him. How quickly he could move from brokenness to arrogance. He was a sporadic storm. She should take cover, move far away from the threatening clouds that always followed him. But as usual, she couldn't resist. She was like a storm chaser, high on his barometric reading.

"You're not even dating him."

_Charles. He was talking about Charles._

She felt a flutter in her stomach. His jealousy spoke volumes, didn't it?

"That is none of your business," she said, and turned away from him to settle onto the couch in the space Charles had vacated.

House downed the shot of liquor she'd given him before responding.

"He's gay."

He handed her the empty glass and slid down the coffee table so he was directly across from her again. The man had no concept of physical boundaries when it came to her. His long legs surrounded hers, and he leaned forward, waiting for her to confirm his allegation.

"You want a medal?" she said, placing the empty glass on the side table.

"I knew it!" His voice was almost celebratory.

She took a sip of her wine before meeting his eyes.

"Your gay-dar is not as impressive as your diagnostic skills."

He was unmoved by her sarcasm.

"You wanted me to believe he was your date."

"No," she said calmly. "You believed that all on your own."

"You think you're cunning," House said, his arrogance returned in full measure. "But you're just a child trying to play with the big boys."

"I'm the child?" Her husky laugh mocked him. "Hello pot, it's the kettle."

His eyes pierced her.

"You want me."

"Oh, here we go again," she release a kind of sigh intermingled with a groan and took a sip of wine before placing it on the side table with his empty glass.

"You chased me down today because you were afraid Cameron was crossing into your territory."

_My territory. Interesting._

"I wanted to know why the head of ER was spending so much time in a department she frantically ran from not so long ago."

House couldn't find her tell. He was looking. Oh, was he looking. He needed to know this was a bluff, another move she was making to jerk him around. He'd rather that than the alternative.

"But you didn't get an answer to that question."

"Didn't I?"

"You only know what she wasn't doing," he reminded her. "You still don't know what she was actually doing."

"Perhaps," Cuddy agreed, crossing her legs and leaning toward him. House tried not to be distracted by the bare thigh exposed as the fabric dropped to her side, or the way her move revealed the slightest glimpse of her cleavage. "Or maybe I only wanted to know what YOU thought she was doing because I already knew what she actually was doing."

House squinted at her, considering her words a beat.

"In that case, you still didn't get your answer."

"And neither will you."

"Ha!" He bellowed. "But I know the answer."

"Then why are you here?"

"It's time to woman-up, Cuddy," he said, his knees moving in closer to press against the outside of her thighs.

"You can stop avoiding me and just admit you have the hots for me."

"I'm hardly avoiding you, House," she said, trying to ignore the way he surrounded her, and the way it made her feel. "I see you every day."

"You lecture me on every minor infraction to avoid the appearance of unprofessional behavior you're actually wanting."

"Minor infraction?" she quirked a brow at him. "Stealing mice from the cancer lab?"

"To test a theory surrounding a patient," he argued. "It was cheaper than blood tests."

"Using the MRI for porn viewing."

"Impotence was a symptom," he said. "I was monitoring synaptic reactions to sexual stimuli. A valid diagnostic tool."

"Having your patient hurl sexual slurs at me?"

"Not an infraction," he proudly said. "A compliment."

"So you said."

"And so you thought."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "How do you figure that?"

"Dilated pupils, a flush just above your left clavicle, nervous movement of your fingers, a subtle twitch of your lip signaling you're trying not to grin or flirtatiously bite your lower lip."

_God he was frustrating._

"Your arrogance is only surpassed by your boner."

"Why thank you."

Cuddy laughed heartily at him. He was so inappropriate and outrageous. It excited her more than she cared to admit.

_She's stunning._

He found himself nervously looking over her shoulder and quickly around the room, expecting Amber to reveal herself yet again.

"What's going on, House?"

He felt himself relax as he realized she wasn't there, mocking him, tormenting him. He had to admit, her appearance so vividly in his mind was freaking him out. That was really why he came to see Cuddy, for distraction…and rescue.

Her eyes searched him, seeking answers to her unspoken questions. He returned to stare, knowing she would intuitively understand what he needed. She had a way of reading him – when he let her.

It was funny how Amber didn't appear when Cuddy was in the room. Maybe he'd unconsciously expected that would be the case. Maybe that was what drew him to her tonight. He'd known on some deeper level that Cuddy could restore some balance and ease his mind. She would save him from this black hole threatening to take him.

Or maybe he'd just been hoping.

Hope.

He'd been testing out the hope theory these past few months. It hadn't worked out so well. The methadone messed with his abilities, and counseling was as useless as he'd expected. Those guys were indeed quacks.

But then Kutner had offed himself, and…

"We've been here before," she softly spoke, a hint of sadness cloaking her grey eyes. "You didn't handle the honesty so well."

_Damn!_

House looked away from her, an annoying twinge of guilt surging through him.

"I apologized for that," he said.

Cuddy noted his voice was husky with unexpected emotion.

_So he does regret it._

Last time she'd taken a step toward him, pushing him to admit what was between them, trying to guide him through the emotions as he'd hinted she should do, he'd vulgarly groped her.

"You didn't get the memo?" he said. "It was wrapped in wood and is now the center point of your office."

He'd worked hard to get that desk for her. She'd never even acknowledge it.

Cuddy was surprised by the hint of hurt in his voice.

"I wasn't sure," she said. "Your hooker was a bit distracting."

House frowned.

_My hooker?_

Cuddy could almost see his mind replaying the day, reconciling what she'd said with his memory. His brow furrowed at the process, but then his eyes closed and he sighed.

"She wasn't…we didn't…" he stammered. "It wasn't what you think."

She believed him. It may make her stupid, and likely proved she was pathetic, but she did believe him.

He tentatively touched her hand. His index finger slid along the outside of her hand.

"You came?"

Well, at least he understood the significance of the misstep. Better late than never.

"How could I not?"

Good, he thought. She had come to thank him. It had the desired affect after all.

She turned her hand over so his finger could move along her palm.

"Thank you."

Cuddy felt a shiver course through her when his hand clasped hers, holding it between both his palms as their eyes locked. It felt like he was trying to transmit through his touch what he couldn't say, what he wanted her to know.

House held his breath when her other hand came to caress his jaw, her fingers lightly running through the scruff of his beard.

_This is it._

This was where he needed to be. This is where he wanted to be. He didn't need to be afraid. Whatever he thought he was giving up (and for the life of him he couldn't think of a thing that mattered right now) wasn't anywhere near as important as what he could have with her.

Her thumb traced the pulp of his lower lip, and House moved slowly toward her.

There's not going back, he thought. If I do this…

"**Kiss her already,**" Amber said.

Cuddy sat stunned as House jerked away from her, awkwardly standing and frantically staring toward the entry to her living room.

House could see her clearly. Amber, mocking him with a wave of her hand and a teasing grin.

_Fuck!_

He was in trouble. He was going to lose Cuddy. He was going to lose everything.

"I need to go," he mumbled.

Cuddy watched House rush out the door and the tears welled in her eyes.

Nothing had changed. She didn't think it ever would.


	5. Chapter 5

_This chapter picks-up in the second part of "Broken" during the dinner party. I have used the shell of the story, and some lines in the script, but I made some changes because, well, Cuddy. __It by no means deals with House's issues, but it doesn't deny them and at least acknowledges a beginning to an on-going process. It also moves the story forward, I hope. Let's see..._

_Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own House._

* * *

**Breakthrough**

"What you did was misguided and irresponsible," Lydia said. "But it was also nice. You gave him a moment of pure happiness."

It wasn't often people could see beyond his reckless, self-absorbed "asshood" to see the intent. Not that he blamed them. Good intentions don't mean shit if you're dead. The whole Freedom Master debacle was just further proof how far he'd fallen from healer to destroyer.

"You asked me why I come here so often to visit Annie," her voice was soft, sad. "She was my best friend. Then she started pulling away… from everybody. The doctors don't know why."

House nodded. He'd seen the vacant look in the woman's eyes as she stood staring at who-knows-what. On some level he understood Annie, felt a connection with her. Wouldn't that surprise Nolan? It would probably surprise everyone. Annie was incapable of talking, much less capable of any significant sharing. But House felt a connection with her: primarily because he understood her on some level. Hadn't he, too withdrawn from humanity? Lost himself in the darkness of his soul? It had always been a tendency. Even as a kid he'd leaned toward being a recluse, spending too much time in his mind or in books and not enough time in the real world. For House, people were trouble. They brought experiences that led to pain. That had proven to be true in his adult life too.

House felt an ache in his thigh and shifted, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.

Annie escaped into silence; he escaped into crude sarcasm and bitter cruelty. The results were the same: no one could get past the wall of defense.

House looked at Lydia, the faithful friend who couldn't give up, wouldn't give up. She was there every day, talking to her, telling her stories, playing the piano. She offered a place of safety, of normalcy, and she was undeterred by the lack of response.

_Like Cuddy._

He closed his eyes briefly as the vision of her formed in his mind.

"I think I married her brother because he was the only other one who was going through the same thing," Lydia suddenly said. "But he stopped visiting after a couple of years. I just… couldn't stop."

Like Wilson and Cuddy: they bonded because of him.

House didn't worry they'd hook up in his absence, but he did wonder if they'd finally break free of him. He sometimes thought that had been the plan when he'd asked Nolan to restrict him to NO VISITORS. He'd said it was so he could focus on getting better and not get sucked back into his old life and patterns when he wasn't ready. Nolan suspected that was a lie; House knew it was. In some ways, Mayfield was just another way of locking himself away. It was a way of escaping the consequences of his breakdown and the pain he'd caused. It was a way of protecting them.

"I miss her," Lydia said.

Would Cuddy miss him? Or was she finally free?

He'd told her he wanted Wilson to take him to Mayfield; he didn't want her help. Her eyes had filled with unshed tears. It had stung, he knew, but the last time he'd asked for her help, he hadn't. It hadn't been real. She was the one he trusted, he wanted with him; she was his savior. And yet she wasn't. She was wrapped in his breakdown, in his shame. It was too screwed up and he wasn't capable of dealing with it.

She'd nodded her understanding, had touched his arm in concern and support. He'd tensed and ignored her, focusing instead on Wilson as he silently pleaded for help. His friend understood. Wilson had known how he felt about Cuddy long before he'd started to admit it to himself.

"I should go," Lydia said.

House nodded. It was getting late.

"Good night," he said.

His eyes widened in question and wonder as she leaned toward him. Her lips brushed his in a soft kiss.

"Good night," she whispered.

House watched her leave.

The last time he'd been kissed, it hadn't been gentle. He'd been pushed against the wall and plundered. Cuddy had been almost desperate that night after the hostage situation and his part in it.

Why had she kissed him?

He still wondered if there was more to it than delayed shock and fear.

_There's always more to it with Cuddy._

He had a feeling this would be another sleepless night when all he could do was think of her.

H H H

"Why did you kiss me?"

Nolan had been trying to get him to talk about the kiss with Lydia, but it wasn't that kiss that had him obsessing. Of course, Nolan couldn't know that. House had yet to even mention Cuddy to his therapist, much less analyze his feelings and responses.

Lydia chuckled. "How many reasons are there?"

He was hoping her answer would provide a clue to Cuddy's kiss. She wasn't helping.

"I like you," she said when he just stared at her. "It felt like a nice way of showing you that."

House felt the air rush from his lungs.

Could it be that simple?

They spent so much time dancing around each other, hiding and deflecting, unwilling to admit their feelings. Actions had always been more important than words between them: the way she hired him when no one else would, the way he watched over her when no one else noticed she felt weak. The way she defended him, lied for him, protected him, and the way he advised her, helped her filter emotions from logic, and kept her secrets. It was the way she looked at him.

House handed her his cane and swiveled on the piano bench beside her. He began playing Schumann's Kinderszenen Op. 15, the piece he'd heard her playing when they'd first met.

Lydia chuckled. "That answer was good enough?"

House heard the door opening behind them. "Open it all the way, and keep it open," he heard someone say.

"For now," he grinned at Lydia and turned to check out what was happening behind them.

_Freedom Master._

He was being wheeled into the day room, his right leg bare, his left in a cast that went from toe to hip. His right arm was cast and propped in a sling. The kid sat like a zombie, oblivious to everything around him.

House stopped playing as a wave of guilt passed through him.

H H H

"_You're trying to fix instead of moving on."_

Nolan's words rang in his head. Freedom Master was a wreck because of him. He was mute, totally withdrawn into himself for reasons House didn't fully understand. How do you not try to fix that? How the hell do you move on when you don't have the answers? When nothing's been resolved? It was counter-intuitive. It was ridiculous.

"_Apologize to him," _he'd said.

As if apologies matter! Answers matter. Results matter.

"_Let yourself feel better."_

He didn't feel better. Safer maybe, but not better. Not happy.

Maybe he'd never be happy. How could he be? He'd fallen too far. Lost everything. He'd be lucky if he got his medical license back even with Nolan's recommendation. And if he did, who would ever trust him to treat them? Patients would run. And no sane doctor was going to recommend him. If he even had a job.

_Cuddy._

He closed his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from his thoughts. How would an apology ever fix what he'd done? How would he ever move on from her?

House looked down at the paper in his hand.

Nolan had given him a day pass, requesting he come to Princeton General to meet him.

As the driver pulled up to the hospital, House hoped this wouldn't be another stupid "trust" game in a real world scenario. The party had turned out to be fun, but he didn't feel up to pretentious socializing today. He was frustrated, and tired. He was locked away in the looney bin and his therapist thought clichés and team-building would teach him how to be happy.

_Therapy is useless._

He'd known that all along. It wasn't as if his fall into the world of crazy - hallucinating dead people and sleeping with Cuddy - was going to suddenly give credence to the psychobabble. Besides, when had trusting people resulted in anything but pain? Relationships and apologies were not going to fix the damage he'd done. Or the damage they'd done. Why would Nolan even focus on that kind of lie? There was no healing without truth.

House read the name on the door before he entered.

**Nolan, Darryl Sr**

This wasn't an exercise.

H H H

House stepped onto the cat walk and looked down into the lobby, tracing the various corridors in the lower lobby.

Nolan's father had a lacunar infarct that converted to hemorrhagic stroke. He'd known it was irreversible. He hadn't needed a consult.

House had started to grill him about the real reason he'd called, interested in the puzzle above the need, as usual.

"_Just shut up. I don't need you here to play this game."_

The words had effectively shut him up. He needed him. Not for a consult. Not for games or to satisfy his need for puzzles. It wasn't about House at all.

For whatever reason, this man had called him because he needed him – his presence – during this dark time in his life.

House had sat with him for hours as he held his father's hand, reminisced about the old times, apologized for hurts and wrongs. And he'd cried. Openly. No pretense. No shame. No embarrassment.

House was amazed.

He now realized Nolan had experienced his fair share of troubles. He'd had some missteps and made some serious mistakes, but his father had been his rock. And now he was gone. He'd passed.

At Nolan's request, House had left him alone for a few minutes, which was fine by him. He could use a cigarette. From his angle on the catwalk, he could get an overall glimpse at the hospital layout. He looked around for the designated smoking area, and for the cafeteria. Maybe he could get a cup of coffee for the two of them. He could use it. He felt out of his element and wondered if…

She stepped through the doors of the administrative suites.

_Cuddy._

Her hair was longer, falling below her shoulders to almost mid back. And it was straight, elegant.

She was wearing a black skirt and a red blouse he recognized. It was loose on her. She'd lost weight.

She was facing two men. Donors? Executives? She laughed at something one of the men said as she reached out to shake their hands.

They looked at her with respect and admiration, and barely concealed lust. As usual, she had them captivated, eating out of the palm of her hand. Whatever she was requesting, she was sure to get it. House felt proud, and a little sad. She was remarkable, and he was…broken.

House almost laughed as he saw the men check out her ass as she walked away. What man could resist?

But then, she slipped around the corner into an empty corridor, away from the general populace and out of sight. Or so she thought.

House had a clear view of her.

She leaned heavily against the wall, as if her own weight were too much to bear. Her fingers ran beneath her eyes, but he couldn't tell if she was clearing mascara or brushing away tears. He could however, clearly see the confident, sexy woman who'd mesmerized those two men had quickly transformed into a sad, almost empty shell.

Cuddy leaned her head against the wall and stared blankly up.

She was gathering strength, tapping into stored reserves. He'd seen her do this many times, usually helped expedite it by interrupting her reverie with a stupid request or an ongoing argument that would immediately light a fire in her. How often had she grinned at him and lightly touched his arms in a quiet thank you? He wasn't always the source of pain and humiliation. There were times he was her rock. Would she remember that?

"Want to get a burger?"

House turned to look at Nolan, who was now standing beside him putting his jacket on, then quickly back down at Cuddy. She was leaving, walking away with her shoulders slumped and a tragic absence of sway in her hips. He wanted to call out to her. To stop her. But yelling from a balcony had been disastrous the last time. He wasn't so certain it would have better results this go around. He wasn't even sure she'd want to see him, much less talk to him.

"Unless you really want institution food," Nolan said. "I can take you back for leftover surprise."

"I may kill you."

Nolan smiled. He hadn't smiled all day.

"Guess it would be pushing it to ask for a beer, too."

"We'll have a pitcher." House was surprised by the response. "Tonight you're a friend, not a patient."

H H H

House quietly stepped through the doors to the day room, intending to take a shortcut to the ward where his room was located. It had been a long day. His leg hurt, and he couldn't stop the wheels in his brain from turning.

At the sound of a whimper and a slight sniffle, he turned. It was dark, but the emergency lights and the glow of the moon from the window illuminated her. Lydia sat on the stage where they were going to perform the ridiculous talent show they'd been planning.

House sighed. He'd been rough on her earlier that morning. He'd spent the night thinking about Nolan's assumption that House was looking for some deep relationship with Lydia just because they'd connected in some way. He didn't really understand the connection, but he wasn't a complete moron. He wasn't looking for it to be some future romance, or abiding love. He just felt normal with her, appreciated and accepted. She was like his whiteboard. She helped him see things from a different angle.

But Nolan had made him wonder if she was wanting more; if maybe he was leading her on. He'd even questioned his own motives, which really pissed him off. So he'd walked away, when all she'd done was brought Dvorak sheet music for four hands. He was an ass.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away," he said softly as he approached her. "It's what I do when I'm afraid."

Lydia made a scoffing sound.

"Again, German-English translation may be a little off," he said, not understanding her response.

"I'm not – I'm not crying because of you," she explained. "I'm crying because I'm pathetic. I brought her cello in case she magically wakes up for the show."

"Oh," House said. "Well, then I take the apology back."

Lydia laughed, but it didn't meet her eyes.

"We're all pathetic," House said, and sat down beside her. "It's what makes everything interesting."

"I'm sick of life being interesting."

House had to agree. As much as he hated "boring," he could use a bit of normalcy in his life about now.

"I can't walk away," she sighed. "My husband works in Phoenix, but we've been tethered here because I just can't walk away from her. After all this time. Her locking me out, locking the world out. I can't stop hoping that she'll see me. That she'll love me enough…"

She tried to hold back the tears.

House rested his chin on the curve of his cane as he carefully considered her words.

"It's not about you," he said. "It's not about how she feels about you. She's trapped. She doesn't want to be."

He turned to look at her, his blue eyes clear and unwavering. "She counts on you," he said. "The way you never give up on her. It matters. It's not fair to you. You deserve better. But it matters."

Lydia tilted her head as she gazed at him.

"It matters to you?"

House frowned at her in question.

"The person who doesn't give up on you," she explained. "It makes a difference? It helps?"

"We're talking about Annie," he said.

"Right."

Lydia looked away, staring into the darkness of the room.

"It helps," House finally broke the silence.

She only nodded.

"Do you think she hears me?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "But she feels you, and that can only help."

"Do you feel her?"

"How do you know it's not a guy?"

She released a breathy laugh. "It's not."

House looked away. When had he become so transparent?

"She makes me want to be better," he admitted, his voice soft and husky. "She makes me want more."

"That scares you."

House nodded. "Nothing lasts."

"Except your pessimism?"

Lydia grinned, leaning into him so her shoulder pushed his in a teasing way.

"Touché."

"Do you run from her, too?"

His eyes glazed over, and he nodded again.

Lydia touched his hand. "Try not to run," she whispered. "She's lucky to have you."

House unconsciously squeezed her hand in response as he shook his head. "I'm not sure she feels lucky at all."

Lydia stood and faced him, forcing him to look up at her when she cupped his cheek. "Coming back to life," she said. "Would make all the pain worth while."

"You're talking about Annie," House said.

"Right."

She leaned down and brushed a kiss along his cheek.

House felt an unfamiliar hope come alive as he watched her leave.

H H H

House knocked on the door and released a deep breath.

"_If you go silent for over a decade, you don't just get to slide right back into society."_

He'd been dumbfounded when he confronted Nolan, unable to comprehend how Annie could be released from Mayfield and moved to Phoenix so soon after her breakthrough.

She had started communicating. As he'd suspected, the music box was key. It had not only brought her to the surface again, but Freedom Master had been a part of it. He was on the psychological mend, too.

House had been excited, almost high when he'd taken Lydia's hand and guided her into the room where Annie had been playing the cello. It had been more than the resolution of a puzzle; it had been the air. It was pregnant with the camaraderie of hope.

It had quickly turned to frustration.

"_She's going to a rehab facility first. In Arizona."_

Nolan had been waiting for his reaction, certain House was going to blow up, unwilling to adapt to the change when he'd begun to feel comfortable and safe.

"_Her family's moving there," _he'd gently explained._ "Sorry, House. I just found out myself."_

House understood. He knew they had only been sticking around so Lydia could be close to Annie. She was committed to her friend. Now, she could have ger life back...and with Annie in it.

_"Coming back to life,_" Lydia had told him. _"Would make all the pain worth while."_

The proof of her unrelenting hope and optimism was in the action. It didn't matter how long Annie had been lost, she was quickly incorporated back into the family without any complaint or delay in making the concessions to get her any help required to assist in her transition.

House had demanded an overnight pass.

Nolan had resisted at first, insisting he should talk through what he was feeling, thinking. But there was only one person he wanted to talk to, only one person who could bring about his breakthrough. She was his music box, a symbol of the life he wanted. Trusting her, trusting himself with her was his watershed from hell to home.

House knocked again, the anxiety within him increasing exponentially.

How many times had he stood here? How many times had she let him, no matter how late, or how upset she was with him. Yet, he'd been unable to let her in. He'd been unwilling to risk the pain. He'd never believed he could endure more pain. He lived with enough.

Now he realized he couldn't live with the pain of not trying. He'd collapsed under the pressure of his own emotion because he was too afraid to journey through it, to allow anyone else to share it with him. It had been his defense mechanism with Stacy; it had been an offensive attack with Cuddy. Both approaches left him alone on a battlefield of his own making.

House sighed.

_She's not home._

Naturally. They were never in sync.

House looked through the window, remembering another time when he'd sought her out, desperate to ask her out, to do something to move their relationship forward. He'd wussed out, walked away with his tail between his legs. She'd never even known he was there, much less why. Did he ever let her know why he came to see her?

House searched his pockets, frowning when he found them empty.

_Dammit!_

He limped back to the cab.

"You got a pen and paper?"

The driver grunted. "Good thing you asked me to wait," he said, tearing a piece of paper from the small notepad he kept on the passenger seat beside him.

"I need that pen back." House heard him say, but he was already on the porch, slipping the quickly scribbled note in the crack of the door above the knob.

At least this time she would know he'd been here.

H H H

He was sitting on the railing in the parking lot when Nolan walked to his car.

"Not the most exciting use of the overnight pass I've ever seen," he said, shifting his briefcase in his hand.

"She wasn't there," he said.

Nolan put down his briefcase and came to sit beside him.

"I'm lost," House said.

"You connected with her," he said. "It will be hard to…"

"Not Lydia," House corrected. He'd known Nolan thought that was where he was going. He hadn't corrected him.

"Cuddy," he almost whispered her name.

"Lisa Cuddy?" Nolan was clearly puzzled.

"I don't just see dead people," House admitted.

He waited for Nolan to fit the pieces together before continuing.

"I see my boss rescuing me and then we have the best sex of my delusional life."

Nolan watched him as he rolled his cane between his hands.

"She's more than your boss."

It wasn't a question. The tender yet sad look in his eyes spoke volumes.

House stilled, propping his chin on the curve of his cane he answered.

"It's complicated."

"Of course it is," Nolan chuckled and slapped him lightly on the back. "Why don't we work on un-complicating it tomorrow? In the meantime, I'm going to write your letter."

House frowned at him.

"To the medical board," he explained. "Recommending they reinstate your medical license."

"You can't just console me by giving me a lollipop when I skin my knee," House said.

What was it with this guy? He made the strangest choices for a therapist.

"Two things just happened," he said. "You took a step of faith, which means you feel comfortable enough in your connection with someone to open yourself up to possible rejection and hurt. More importantly, it didn't turn out and you're afraid it never will. But instead of hiding away in a bottle of Vicodin, you're here, telling me the secret you've been protecting since you stepped foot through those doors."

Nolan stood and looked down at House.

"As long as you're taking your meds and allowing yourself to feel," he said. "As long as you're willing to work through what you feel and face it head on, there's nothing you can do in these walls that you can't do back in the real world. In your real life."

House considered his words, seeing his decision in a different light. Maybe he wasn't such a moron after all.

"Come inside and get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow you can start saying your good-byes and we can start creating a transition plan."

House stood slowly, shell-shocked by how quickly things were changing for him.

_Just like with Annie._

"We're also going to talk about Doctor Cuddy," Nolan said. "You're not getting out of this one."

House nodded.

For the first time, he wanted to talk about her. More than that, he wanted to talk to her.

In a neighborhood miles away, a woman stood at her door, hands trembling as she read the note again.

_I was here. You weren't. Our timing sucks._

_House._


	6. Chapter 6

_You guys are fun with your reviews and comments. Thank you for such a positive response. _

_And we move into a rewrite of Season 6. Hope you enjoy._

_Same Disclaimer, different chapter._

* * *

**Epic Start**

"I do love a good groveling, but my decision is final."

House had quit earlier that day. It was the first time he'd seen her since leaving Mayfield, and he'd stepped through the door with the his usual arrogant, obtrusive flair. But then he'd resigned from the hospital, openly explaining he needed the change to protect his recovery. She didn't know if she'd been more stunned by the resignation or the vulnerability.

He wasn't surprised to see her at the door. A part of him had expected it, wanted it, while another part of him was nervous and afraid of how their first conversation would go. What would he say? What could he say? How could he even begin to "apologize and move on" with her?

She'd been holding his job for him, covering and advocating for him as she always had. But everything had changed. It had to.

"That's fine," Cuddy said, more gracious in accepting his decision than she felt. "As long as I'm not the reason for it."

Ah! He should have guessed her legendary guilt would take a front seat.

"I know that sounds completely narcissistic, but…"

"Yeah," he sarcastically said, interrupting her spiel. She gave him an impatient glare. "But it's not."

His admission successfully diffused the emotional defense he'd seen brewing.

"We flirted. We kissed. I fondled," he ticked off an abbreviated outline of their interaction the past year. "I hallucinated a night with you and yelled it from a hospital balcony. You're not a narcissist."

Cuddy was surprised by his honesty. No deflections, or denials. No excuses. She almost would have believed he was charting the symptoms in a DDX if it weren't for the tender, sad look in his eyes.

Her stomach fluttered.

"So what am I?"

_I'm not ready for this._

His attention returned to the gnocchi.

"Not the reason I'm leaving."

Cuddy could see the subtle withdrawal as his shields quietly came up. It wasn't the barrier she was used to, the walls reinforced with bitterness and pain. This one was more fragile.

"House," she said waiting for him to look her in the eye. "I'm gonna miss you."

Cuddy placed her hand on the island counter as she leaned toward him.

"Lady, either kiss him or leave. We got work to do."

House grimaced.

"You just couldn't keep your trap shut," he said to his cooking partner.

"Make the damn gnocchi."

Cuddy closed her eyes, a slight grin making its way to her lips. At least this hadn't changed. He was still an ass.

She nodded her head as a touché and farewell.

"Bye."

House felt his heart drop as she disappeared around the corner and leaned heavily against the island.

He'd blown it. He just couldn't seem to get it right with her.

He bent to refocus on the gnocchi, to bury himself in a simple task that would get his mind of his ongoing failures, and his eyes landed on a small piece of paper.

_I was here. You weren't. Our timing Sucks._

_House_

"Shit!"

House grabbed the paper and quickly limped to the door, anxious to catch her.

"Cuddy!" he called.

She had just opened the door, but turned to look at him, her eyes guarded and curious.

He stared at her. He didn't know what to say.

The seconds ticked by and he could only look at her, the way her grey eyes searched his, the way her head tilted slightly to the side almost shyly, the way she nervously bit her lower lip as she waited on him. Would there ever be a time she didn't take his breath away?

"You should keep it for our scrapbook," he finally said.

"You think I have a scrapbook?"

"You should," he said. "A scrapbook of us! It would read like a farce. Or a horror story."

"Suspense at the very least."

House released a breath.

"I've got plenty of time on my hands. I'll make you one," he said.

Cuddy released an airy chuckle.

"Want to take a walk in the courtyard?" he rushed to ask. "And by walk I mean 20 steps."

"What about the gnocchi?"

"She can handle the spud; you handle the stud."

"There are horses in the courtyard?"

House grinned, relieved she was responding. Playing.

"Just an ass."

He guided her down the hall and down a few steps to a small exit at the back of the building. It opened to a grassy area sprinkled with a few flower beds, a small vegetable garden and a large tree in the corner.

"I didn't know this was here," she said. The front of the building looked like a standard apartment façade. Not hint of a green space.

House walked over to the park bench nestled at the base of the tree. He pointed to the canopy of leaves.

"I can hide out hear and smoke," he said. "No one can rat me out."

It was a nice hiding space. The way the branches grew and the angle of the bench obstructed the view of anyone looking down from the windows surrounding the courtyard.

"You started smoking again?"

"It happens," he shrugged. "I lost all my other vices."

"Vicodin."

His eyes pierced her.

"That's one.

Her return stare was unwavering.

"It isn't going to work, you know."

He frowned in question.

"Resigning from the hospital," she explained. "You need the puzzles."

"You think because they were the only thing that worked in the past, they're the only thing that will work now?" His voice became defensive.

"I know you."

He couldn't argue with that, but he thought there was more to her words. Or maybe he hoped there were.

"You saved me then," he said. "And you want to be the one saving me now."

"I'm no savior."

Cuddy looked away, crossing her arms in a clear protective gesture.

"I'm part of the problem. I'm part of the reason…"

"Okay," he interrupted. "Here's how this is going to go. You get this one chance to bask in that guilt that helps you feel better about your narcissism, then you have to put it all back on me, the ADDICT."

Cuddy flinched.

House relaxed his tone.

"Taking responsibility is one of the 12-steps, you know."

"I only meant…"

"I know what you meant," he said, looking away from her and unconsciously rubbing his thigh. "It wasn't your fault."

Cuddy didn't know what to say. She knew how to play the game with an angry, deflecting House. She understood the rules of engagement, accepted her role. This House left her uncertain. Insecure. Vulnerable. She didn't like that.

"I've been stuck at the Higher Power bit, by the way," he said. "Maybe your tribe can help me with…"

"Why did you come see me?"

House froze. He should have known she wouldn't let it drop. She came here with that note for a reason.

"I didn't want to be trapped anymore." He answered honestly, but without detail.

"At Mayfield?"

He shook his head in a negative response. "Inside."

Cuddy stood quietly watching him as he leaned forward on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at his clasped hands.

"You thought I could help?"

She hoped she wasn't pushing him to hard. She didn't want him to shut down. She just wanted to understand. She wanted to know. She needed to know what she was to him.

"You always help me."

Cuddy gasped.

He looked up at her, his crystal eyes unguarded and…afraid.

House held his breath as she stepped forward.

"There's so much I want to ask," she whispered.

"I know."

He swallowed hard and looked away nervously.

"Not yet." His voice was husky with emotion.

This was a House she'd never seen.

Her fingers ran along the line of his beard. It was thicker than he usually kept it, in contrast to the hair on his head that was shaved close.

She took another step forward, standing between his knees as she urged him to look at her.

When their eyes locked, she didn't know if she was drowning or finally coming to the surface. She was lost in their tender depth, mesmerized by the length of his lashes as he blinked at her.

Greg House was intense. That wasn't a news flash. She'd known it from the moment they'd met. Beneath this new vulnerability and open emotion, that intensity remained. And it was focused on her.

His hands cupped her sides, cautiously, carefully. They rested there as he waited, and watched.

Cuddy felt her body responding to him. It always did. His simmering power, the fierce way his eyes devoured her - as if she were the only thing that could ever satisfy his hunger -had always left her yearning. The nervous energy, the constant awareness that pulsed through her when he was around was exhausting. And exhilarating.

The air between them was alive, a pilot light ready to be ignited. But it wasn't the lust he had grown accustomed to experiencing; it didn't feel like the restrained passion he'd learned to accept as a part of them.

House froze as her lips brushed his.

It was a feather light kiss, barely there except for the breath that heated his lips. He inhaled, breathing in the scent of her, and felt a sense of longing.

House watched her as she brought her other hand up to his jaw.

Cuddy shivered.

House saw her, looked far deeper into her than anyone ever had. She waited for him to pull away, to mock her, to remind her she wasn't worth it and walk away. If he ran away from her now, after everything that had happened, after everything that had brought them this far, it might just be the final blow that would crush her.

But he pulled her close, wrapping his long arms around her and resting his head on her chest above her breasts.

House released a sigh as her hands ran along his scalp and down his neck. Her gentle touch was soothing, assuring.

She kissed the top of his head, and he looked back up at her. A lump formed in the back of her throat at his wide-eyed expression.

She leaned down, pulling his face to hers and claiming his mouth in a still soft, but demanding kiss.

House groaned, low and deep. He couldn't believe she would open herself up to him again, that she would show him such kindness and forgiveness. He couldn't believe she could touch him with such...care.

His tongue slipped between her lips and tangled with hers in a slow, torturous exploration. She reveled in the taste of him, the texture of him as her sensitive taste buds exploded.

It wasn't even sexual. Well, that wasn't true. Everything between them was sexual. But it was more. She didn't have the desperate need to be taken, to be ravaged by the intensity of his desire and need. She just wanted the kiss to go on. She wanted to be held and assured. She wanted to feel safe, to know that she wouldn't lose him. It was all so different. It was a more intimate experience than they'd ever shared.

Her fingers moved along the side of his face, holding him steady as she positioned for a better angle. That's when she felt it: the moisture on his cheek.

She tried to pull back, but he gripped her hard, holding her tight against him as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, hiding his face from her.

Cuddy wrapped her arms around him, opening herself fully to his embrace.

House took a deep breath, nestling into the comfort of her arms and the warmth of her body. He clung to her for support as he allowed himself to feel for the first time years.

H H H

"If the lab says that this is retriever too, please let me know right away," House snapped, zipping up his pants and limping down the hall away from them. "It'd explain my overwhelming desire to wipe my butt on your carpet."

It had been a week since she'd seen him. They'd quietly parted, uncertain of what to say or do after the profound, emotionally intimate experience.

The hours had felt like days to House as he'd sought for distractions, cooking like a mad scientist to keep from giving in to his fears, fighting not to succumb to his body's constant cry for Vicodin.

He'd been avoiding her, not just because she'd seen him cry, witnessed yet another pathetic breakdown, but because it was the "wise" thing to do. He'd discussed it with Nolan. He couldn't allow himself to become so entrenched in pursuing a relationship with Cuddy that he didn't take time to rebuild his life. He needed to find his place again, regain his footing. It would be easy for Cuddy to become a new addiction and not the woman he loved.

He'd finally admitted it. He was in love with her. He had been for a long time. He wanted to be with her, forever. Whatever that meant. Forever wouldn't be very long if he didn't pull himself together.

"Thank you for dragging me into this," House heard her say as he closed the door to his bedroom.

Cuddy ran a hand through her hair, frustrated at this turn of events. Wilson was convinced House had relapsed. From what he'd told her, there was certainly reason to believe it.

Maybe she shouldn't have kept her distance. Maybe she should have reached out to him, reassured him in some way that his emotions were okay, healthy even.

But she hadn't known what to say, or what to do. She still didn't. She wanted to be there for him, support him in whatever decisions he needed to make. He was starting from scratch, rebuilding his life without drugs, without the hospital and the cases, without anything familiar around him. Except for Wilson.

"Shit," Wilson sighed, and went after House.

Cuddy stood at the end of the hall; she could hear them through the door.

"House, we're just worried about you."

"You don't think I'm worried?" House snarled. "I'm dealing with a lot here. And I've been okay. I've been talking, I've been doing everything I'm supposed to do even though everything has changed. I'd just like to be able to screw around with my best friend with the Spanish inquisition being reenacted in the living room."

"I didn't know you were screwing with me."

"That's kinda the point, isnt' it?"

Cuddy heard something squeak and thought someone must have sat down on the bed. House?

"You were supposed to test me," he said. "Screw with me. Try to beat me at the game. You weren't supposed to bring Cuddy here."

"We were worried," Wilson said. "We're your friends."

"You're my friend," House said, and she flinched outside the room, grabbing the wall for support. "She's not my friend."

Cuddy backed up, as if some invisible force were chasing her, pummeling her. She couldn't breathe. She needed air. She needed to get out of there.

Without a word, Cuddy ran out the door, leaving the pain behind her.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, and sat down beside House.

"I don't want her to always see me as some loser on the brink of another breakdown."

"She doesn't see you that way," Wilson tried to assure him.

"Of course she does," House said and sadly looked at his friend. "I am that way."

H H H

"The hospital is part of my old life," House said. "If I go back, I might become who I was before, pills and all."

He was at his scheduled therapy session and he'd just admitted he'd gone online where the patient had posted symptoms and solved his old team's case. The result had been a $25,000 reward check, and a sense of failure at being unable to leave his old life behind. But his leg wasn't hurting as much, so a part of House couldn't embrace the act as a failure. Apparently, Nolan couldn't either.

"That's a possibility," he said. "But could be... the only thing worse for you than going back to diagnostic medicine is, not going back.

House thought about it for only a second before agreeing.

"Guess we're gonna find out," he said. "It will mean asking Cuddy for my job back."

"I doubt she'll say no," Nolan answered. "She's the reason the medical board is giving you a chance in the first place."

House frowned, puzzled by his words.

"My letter's aren't that good," he said. "She is. She knows how to fight the system, and win."

_She fought for me. Again. It shouldn't be that way._

"She's amazing," House muttered.

"Yes, she is," Nolan agreed, leaning forward in concern as he searched House. "How is that going?"

"I'm a fruitcake teetering on the edge of another breakdown," he said. "It's a little hard to start a courtship from there."

Nolan smiled. Looking at the scruffy, grumpy man, you'd never guess he was such a closet romantic.

"You think that's how she sees you? As a fruitcake?"

He shrugged.

"Do you always giver her so little credit?"

"What do you mean?" House asked. "She's smart. And intuitive. She can see a nutjob from a mile away."

"So it's a compliment?"

"I guess."

House leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

Nolan shook his head at the childishness. The man was a genius, but had the unique ability to be completely clueless when it came to understanding how people actually viewed him.

"You're no loser. And you just made $25,000 that proves it," Nolan said, standing to step behind his desk. "If she's so smart, she wouldn't fight so hard to keep a nutjob on her staff. So either she's not smart, or you're not a nutjob. Which is it?"

House considered that a moment, but Nolan could see his mood was lightening.

"Don't worry about Cuddy," he said. "Think about your next step, which is getting your job back. You're supposed to be working on you, on balance and honesty, not on courtship."

House sighed.

"What?"

"I was hoping they all went together."

"One step at a time, House. One step at a time."

"Slow and steady has never been my forte."

Nolan stared at him, waiting a beat before responding. "That's not what she said."


	7. Chapter 7

_Special thanks to Sandy, housebound, OldSFfan, Suzieqlondon, JLCH, IHeartHouseCuddy, freeasabird14, Abby, HuddyGirl, bere, Azes, grouchysnarky, xx, jaybee61, dmarch21, jayfukae, IaneCasey, Valley-10, ikissedthelaurie, hughsoulingregsmind, IWuvHouse, Bladesmum, lenasti16, Ilona, Maya, Rochelle, Katie, Meg, and all the guests who commented and sent PMs. You are amazing._

_Hope you enjoy this next installment._

_Dislaimer: Remains the same. Not mine._

* * *

**In the Know**

Cuddy couldn't stop watching him.

She hadn't expected to be on a road trip with him. Wilson had said he wasn't joining them; he'd had a case.

She'd known he'd been concerned about leaving House. After all, he had taken on the responsibility of being a kind of sponsor, helping House re-integrate into his old life and maintain his sobriety. That's what friends do.

"_You do make me feel funny."_

He made her want to scream. She'd been so hopeful when he'd returned from Mayfield, encouraged that things may actually move forward between them once he found his groove again. She'd stayed up most of the night after they'd talked in the courtyard, after he'd been so open and honest, so vulnerable. It had felt like something had shifted between them, something they could build on.

"_She's not my friend."_

It had stung to hear him say that. She'd left the apartment an emotional wreck that day, more devastated than she'd been the day he'd broken down in her office and Wilson took him to Mayfield. She'd determined to take a step back, to protect herself - as she'd tried many times before – from the heartbreak that always followed every precarious move between them. She would be his employer, support him in his efforts to regain his license and manage him as necessary, but she would not become enmeshed with him again. She was done.

House had actually seemed to be okay with that. Of course, he'd had a lot to deal with and probably didn't even notice she was absent, which rubbed her as well. She'd been struggling not to pine after him and he barely noticed she'd disappeared from his day-to-day life. She should have expected it; he was as self-absorbed as ever.

Cuddy sighed as she internally berated herself for such selfish thoughts. Of course he was focusing on himself. That breakdown had been terrifying for him. The thought of losing his mind would be his greatest fear. It had been his fear. Wilson had actually played on that fear, screwing with him a little more than she felt appropriate. But since she wasn't his friend, who was she to judge?

House had been showing signs of confidence, leading his staff even without the authority, and terrorizing the hospital as a conscientious objection to being required to complete 120 supervised probationary hours. Then he'd shown up in her office nervous and humbled, tearing up the release form and announcing he wasn't ready to be a doctor again.

She'd hid her fears, trying to find a way to show a reasonable amount of support for an employee in apparent crisis, without getting drawn into him again. She was done, or so she kept telling herself.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, and turned to leave.

"Then we need to talk about what your role is actually going to be if you're not going to have a medical license," she'd stopped him.

House spun around as she spoke, frowning.

"We can't keep on the way you've been," she'd said. "There needs to be a more permanent arrangement, and the department needs some stability."

"It seems to be working fine just as it is," he'd tried to point out.

"For you maybe," she'd argued, coming around the desk to face him. "Not for the hospital."

"You mean not for you."

She'd ignored the jab. "You're not going to keep me, or the hospital on this roller coaster ride."

He'd stared at her, searching her eyes in that all-seeing, infuriating way.

She'd braced herself for a fight, or at the least, one of their legendary sparring matches, but a sudden look of resolve had come over him. He'd closed his eyes, swallowed hard and said: "I'm hallucinating again."

Her eyes had grown wide, completely shocked by his words, before her expression turned to a frown.

"You can't be," she'd said. "Unless you relapsed."

"I didn't," he assured her. "I'm not on drugs, but…I'm hearing voices."

His eyes were clear, and afraid. She'd believed him.

She'd guided him to the sofa and sat down beside him.

"Tell me what's going on," she'd said.

Surprisingly, he hadn't fought her. He'd told her about the mumbling voices that were haunting him at night.

"What does Wilson say?" she'd asked.

"I haven't told him."

"What about Dr. Nolan?"

"Haven't told him, either."

Her stomach had flipped at the thought of him choosing her to voice his concerns, as if she were special.

_Don't get pulled in._

But then she'd remembered his words in the courtyard, him saying she helped him. He may not look at her as a friend, but he did trust her. Their shared experiences and longevity had at least resulted in trust.

She'd assured him she didn't believe it was a sign of a mental break. He needed to trust himself, investigate, do his thing. The truth was out there.

House had seemed encouraged. He was definitely determined.

He'd apparently gotten his answers. He'd joined her on rounds the next day, following through with the plan to have her supervise his 120 hours. Wilson had later explained what had happened, confessing he'd allowed House to think he was losing it to screw with him, and also snap him out of the insecurities that were keeping him down. She'd understood Wilson missed Amber and had his own way of dealing with it, but she'd been angry he'd used his little routine to scare House.

But she hadn't needed to defend him. Once the truth was out, House had returned, and in rare form! He teased and tormented her, as saucy and inappropriate as he'd been for years.

Cuddy knew her limits. She'd never be able to keep a healthy distance with that kind of heat between them. And she was going to keep her distance! She. Was. Done.

So she'd released him.

Even after he'd dropped his bomb – "You do make me feel funny" – she'd determined not to get sucked into the game. She needed to move on. He was not good for her. He was not good for Rachel.

Charles told her she was kidding herself. He had taken her out to dinner, determined to get her mind off whatever was distracting her. Of course, it was really just an opportunity to get the scoop.

He'd listened to her bemoan the entire situation, asking questions for clarification now and again, but allowing her the time to fully pour out her frustrations and hurt.

When she'd finally finished, he'd stared at her long and hard before responding.

"Let me get this straight," he'd said. "You're upset because House said he doesn't see you as a friend, and if you're not his friend you don't want the drama, so you've decided to be his boss and ONLY his boss. But he trusts you with his deep, dark secrets and his long denied desires. And the sparks fly when you're together. And he's even admitted you make him feel funny, which admittedly is a little childish and yet shamelessly romantic. So you are putting on the armor and building a mote around you so he can't cross and hurt the princess in the tower."

"Don't be a jerk."

"The truth hurts."

"You act like it's wrong," she'd said defensively. "I can't stay on this runaway train, one day I'm not a friend and the next the only person he trusts. I need some stability. Rachel needs stability."

"So this is about Rachel."

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"Okay, it's about me."

Charles had smiled tenderly.

"Let's start from the top," he'd said. "Why are you getting so worked up because you're not in the friend zone?"

"After all we've been through," she'd said. "After all I've done for him, he…"

"He doesn't want to be your friend."

"Exactly."

"Honey," he'd said. "You don't want to be his friend either; you want to jump his bones, you want to have crazy monkey sex with him, often. You want him to…"

"I get it."

"Do you?" he'd asked. "He obviously wants much more than friendship from you. It's not that he doesn't want you to be his friend, he just doesn't want that to be ALL he is."

Cuddy frowned.

She had believed that for a while. She'd convinced herself while he was away at Mayfield that his hallucination had been a revelation, a reflection of his heart.

"I thought you were giving him time to heal," Charles had reminded her.

She hadn't had time to reconcile her emotions, much less figure out how to get past her fears before she'd been thrown full force into the ride again. House was accompanying her and Wilson to the conference. It was going to be very difficult to keep her distance.

Now, Cuddy stared at his profile from the back seat while he argued with Wilson about some ridiculous topic. She didn't know what he was up to, or if he was up to something, or if it involved her. She only knew she had to be strong. Her daughter deserved it.

H H H

"So, you two are what? Dating?" House asked, intensely studying Cuddy from across the table.

Wilson was fidgeting, uncomfortable with the tension. Lucas appeared clueless, but Wilson couldn't shake the feeling it was an act. There was something manipulative about the guy. He'd spent a little time with him when House had been at Mayfield and understood why House had let him into his circle, in some sense. He certainly wasn't boring. In fact, House would find him challenging in some ways, even fun under the right circumstances. This wasn't the right circumstance. Anything involving Cuddy right now cut a little too close to his heart. Not that Cuddy seemed to understand that. Wilson was pretty sure Lucas didn't quite get it either.

"We're not."

"We are."

They answered House at the same time.

Cuddy didn't allow her gaze to waver from House. She wasn't going to be intimidated by the intensity of his stare. Or distracted by the dogged determination and unmerited smugness of Lucas!

"I suspected someone in accounting was skimming money, and I wanted to investigate quietly. And since you introduced me to the only detective I know..."

"And one thing led to another," Lucas bragged.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. It was clear Lucas was intentionally baiting House, trying to engage him in a pissing contest of some kind. She resented it. She resented both of them. She was trying to move on, to focus on the right things: her daughter, providing structure and stability, creating an environment of nurture and love. The last thing she needed was this jerk chasing after her in his lame attempts to get her to go out with him. Or House playing his games.

_I was gonna come see you. Figure out where things would go from there._

Damn him!

She'd been up half the night thinking about what he'd said on the dance floor. Trying not to read too much into it, but feeling like a school girl again at his words.

"You're suggesting you got there first?" House turned to look at him, his expression steady and inscrutable.

Lucas grinned and puffed out his chest proudly.

"What are you talking about?" Cuddy frowned. There was something in the way House stared at him, in the way the air shifted around them that left her uncomfortable. House was reading him, searching him for clues and answers that clearly involved her.

"You're an idiot," House said.

"Don't be a sore loser."

Cuddy looked back and forth between them as a theory started to formulate in her mind.

"Please tell me this is not what I'm thinking," Cuddy said between clenched teeth.

Surely they hadn't made a bet. House wouldn't have. He couldn't.

"Your investigative skills are not as good as I thought," House said, his voice controlled and tense. He didn't look at Cuddy. "I never had anything to lose, you moron."

_Oh, God no._

She felt her blood start to boil.

"So you kept this a secret?" House finally turned to Cuddy.

His eyes softened when he looked at her, but there was a defensive shield slowly slipping over him she hadn't seen since he'd returned from Mayfield.

He wasn't the only one feeling defensive, Dammit!

"You protecting me in my fragile state?" he coldly asked. "You think I was an unhinged looney who was about to go off the rails at a badly timed bit of news?"

"I needed help with the baby," she answered. Her voice held an almost deadly calm. "Lucas offered to drive up."

"Of course she's worried," Lucas interrupted. "A little worried…as a friend."

Cuddy flinched internally.

_She's not my friend._

In spite of what Charles had said, she was still hurt by his words. Every good relationship had to start with friendship, right?

House grimaced.

_She doesn't think you're reliable. And you will remain friend-zoned until that changes._

Wilson had just explained that to him earlier, now to have Lucas suggest it. He wanted to throw up.

"I had to hide in our room and be the dirty little secret," Lucas said. "It kinda sucked."

"Oh, cut the shit," Cuddy said, finally blowing. "It is not 'our' room and we have not hooked up or started dating or whatever other bet you two made."

Lucas seemed to only just become aware he'd overplayed his hand.

"Oh, sweetie, there was no bet," he said.

"I'm not your sweetie," she snarled, throwing her napkin on the table and glaring at him. "And I'm not his friend."

Wilson froze. She could see in her peripheral vision he was shocked, and slightly horrified by her words.

She'd turned to look at House.

His expression was controlled; his jaw tense and his stare agonizingly sharp. She could almost see the walls being erected brick by brick. Well, screw him! She wasn't going to knock down those walls this time. She wasn't his friend. She wasn't anything to him. In spite of all they'd been through.

Lucas was oblivious to the undercurrents moving between the three other people at the table, the people who were uniquely tied together in a way very few people could understand.

"Don't say that," he said in a whiny voice. "We're only just getting to know each other. I understand your need to protect House, but it's unnecessary. So he had some hallucination about having sex with you, what's the big deal?"

Cuddy swirled to stare at him again, horrified.

_How did he know? How could he?_

House didn't even look at him. His focus remained on Cuddy, cold and unwavering.

"It wasn't hard to figure out," he answered the unspoken question. "He yelled it from a balcony and then disappeared for a couple of month. It's not too hard for a good PI to find out where he'd disappeared, and the rest is just puzzle pieces."

He was smiling proudly, more impressed with himself than anyone else at the table.

He reached for a piece of toast. "I don't know what the big secret is," he said. "I mean, I imagine having sex with women all the time. No big deal. Though I guess if they knew what I imagine, it could get awkward."

He looked at House, pointing at him with the butter knife as he continued to vocalize his thought process. "I guess it's different because in the fantasy, she was your savior," he said. "But I mean, that was months ago, right? All the work that you had to do to get straight- You've been institutionalized. You've had way bigger stuff to deal with. And she's moving on, with me I hope."

He turned to grin at Cuddy, and it seemed for the first time during his obnoxious tirade, he realized Cuddy was not charmed by him. In fact, she was furious, perhaps even disgusted if he read her right.

"I should shut up," he sighed.

"How the hell would you know the details of the hallucination?" Cuddy demanded.

Wilson dropped the spoon he was holding.

House closed his eyes.

Cuddy stared at Wilson, horrified.

Wilson turned to House.

House didn't look at him. He didn't look at her. He slowly opened his eyes to stare blankly at Lucas.

Cuddy had never been so powerless to read him. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so locked away. All of the anger she'd felt, the frustration and righteous indignation, washed away beneath the fear that overcame her.

"Can I buy you a ginger ale?" Lucas asked dumbly.

"A ginger ale would be good," House said calmly.

Too calm.

Wilson and Cuddy look at each other, knowing this volcano was far from dormant, it was alive and active and ready to blow.

"But I think I'll buy it myself," he said, standing and reaching for his cane. "I've had about all the bonding with friends I can take."

House felt their eyes follow him as he limped away. He didn't look back.

He was done.

H H H

Cuddy found him at one of the docks on the far end of the resort. They'd been looking for him for over an hour. After they'd finished verbally pounding Lucas, and threatening physical violence if he wasn't out of their sight in minutes, he'd smartly escaped the restaurant. She and Wilson had started their own argument, each blaming the other for the entire debacle, but even as they fought, they were searching for him. They'd finally split up when they'd finished searching the building. They would search the grounds and communicate through texts.

He was leaning against the boat shed staring out at the lake, a cigarette burning in his hand.

"We've been looking for you," she said as she cautiously approached him.

House resented her care. He resented her pity. He wasn't so delicate and feeble he'd break at the first betrayal. It wasn't as if he didn't expect it. Everybody lies.

"You found me," he answered evenly, not turning to look at her. "I'm fine. You can leave."

"We need to talk."

"No, we don't," he said.

"House, I'm your boss…"

"I know you're my boss," he hissed, still staring out across the lake, avoiding her gaze. "I don't need to be reminded of all you've done for me and how much I owe you."

"That's not…"

"How 'bout I quit and make it easier for everybody?"

He tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his tennis shoe.

"That's not what I want!"

She stepped in front of him. "I'm only saying we work together, so we can't just let this go without talking about it and working it out."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"You made a bet with Lucas on who'd sleep with me first!" She yelled at him.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath and finally looked up at her. "You can't really think that."

"What am I supposed to think?"

She was angry and hurt. He could see that. He was too. And he was tired, so tired. It wasn't supposed to be this hard.

"You'll think whatever you want," he finally said. "You always do."

He pushed himself around her and stepped into the boat shed.

"That's because you refuse to talk to me so I have no choice but to believe whatever I'm thinking!"

He had just tossed a life jacket and a couple of oars into the small boat when he reeled around to face her.

"Bullshit!" The pressure had been building and his fury was clearly breaking the surface. "I've been very clear with you since I got back. I've even been using my words and everything. You don't listen because you don't want to."

"You've been playing games," she accused.

His eyes were blue fire. "There's nothing about my life right now that's a game," he spit out.

"You run hot and cold…"

"Better than just cold," he hissed. "You just stay in your little frigid world. That ice works wonders at keeping people out."

She slapped him.

She didn't know who was more shocked.

"Oh God, House…" she reached for him.

He grabbed her wrist, preventing her from touching him as his eyes pierced her. She caught the twitch in his jaw, the subtle movement at the edge of his mouth, the way his eyes moved back and forth along her expression, scanning her, evaluating her.

"Lucas knew how I felt about you," House finally said. "He liked you too and said he'd see who got there first." His voice was almost monotone. "There was no bet."

Truth. That's all he could depend on.

"He doesn't know about our past."

It wasn't a question. Obviously Lucas had no idea they'd slept together years ago or he'd know there was no way he'd 'get there first.'

"No one does," House said, stepping closer to her. "That's ours."

He was still holding her wrist, but not gripping it. His touch was light, his fingers gentle along the pulse point.

"Not even Wilson?"

House shook his head. "He knows I've always wanted you," he said. "That's it."

Her stomach fluttered. She should have known. He'd always kept her secrets. He'd always been discreet in the very way he was indiscreet.

"I'm not sleeping with him," she said. "I just needed help with Rachel and there was no one else to call."

"You had me."

"No," she said, and pulled her arm from his grasp, jerking away from him. "You're not my friend."

She couldn't forget that. She couldn't get wrapped up in a false sense of security with him. Not again.

House was relieved to hear the words. He didn't want to be in her friend zone. He wanted more from her, much more. And yet there was something in the way she said it, something mocking, as if she were quoting someone and not just making a statement.

"What am I?" he asked.

Cuddy looked down at her feet and shrugged. "I don't know."

"You do know," he argued. They'd been dancing around this for years. He was sick of it. It shouldn't be tormenting his thoughts or coming up in hallucinations. It needed to be out there. In the open.

_I sound like Nolan._

"No," she argued. "I don't. I asked you what I was to you when you first came back. You didn't answer me. How am I supposed to know what we are?"

It was the same old game. Who would say it first? Who would forfeit their power long enough to break the stalemate?

"_What am I?" she'd asked. "Not the reason I'm leaving."_

"I said you make me feel better," he pointed out. "I've trusted you more than anyone."

"You said I'm not your friend."

House frowned, trying to remember a saying that to her.

"You told Wilson you didn't want me there."

The day he'd peed in the cup. House remembered.

"I said you make me feel funny."

"After you talked about my nipples and ass and tried to humiliate me in front of my med students."

House sighed. He'd always teased her that way. It wasn't meant to humiliate her. Since when did it become an issue?

"It doesn't matter," she said. This wasn't getting them anywhere.

Charles was right. She didn't want to be his friend. She wanted him. In spite of being crass and inappropriate, he made her feel alive. He made her feel wanted and desired, respected and admired. But he also made her feel lost and afraid, confused and ashamed.

House was right too. She had no idea what she needed. But that was irrelevant. She knew what Rachel needed.

It didn't matter what he'd said or what she'd said, or what she thought he meant or what he thought she meant. He ignored her and pushed her away at the slightest shift in the wind. He was unpredictable, and undependable. She needed better than that if he was going to be in her life. Rachel deserved better.

She couldn't get drawn back into his web just because he made her stomach flutter and her heart race. She needed the man in her life to provide the stability of a friend…a best friend. House couldn't be that. She needed to stick to her guns and keep her distance.

House felt the shields coming up around her. She was going to run. She always ran from what she wanted. She was the strongest, bravest woman he'd ever met and yet she ran away in fear from anything that came close to her heart.

_Except Rachel. _

She hadn't run from her daughter.

_But she would have._

He'd pushed her to stick with the adoption, to try again. He'd stopped her from running.

"I need to let Wilson know you're okay," she said, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone.

_Do something you idiot!_

Cuddy didn't even have a chance to look at the numbers before House had dropped his cane and pushed her against the wall.

His mouth was on hers, his hands gripping her waist. His breath was hot, his tongue wet as it ran along the crease of her lips seeking entrance.

She gasped.

He devoured her.

Cuddy dropped her phone and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him against her. He tasted of cigarettes, coffee and lust, but her mind could only process the sensation of his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth, sucking and sipping at her, a thirsty man finally getting a drink.

His arms wrapped around her, surrounding her, sheltering her. His shoulders were wide, his chest big. His arms were strong, lifting her slightly off the ground to perfectly align their bodies. The sheer size of him could make a woman feel safe and secure.

But she wasn't safe.

Her body cried out for his touch, writhing against him as his hands began to roam her back and then cupped her ass. She wanted this. She wanted him.

But he wasn't safe.

Cuddy tried to pull back. It was a feeble attempt. He felt so good, and her body was traitorous.

House groaned when his erection fit so perfectly between her thighs. She was hot. So hot.

Her legs grew weak and she felt her knees buckle. House held her close, but dropped down with her, buffering the fall.

He was on top of her. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples.

Her legs opened, and he slid easily between them. She could feel the pulse of him pounding against her core.

He gasped for air when her legs wrapped around him, and he kissed her jaw, her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin through his beard, tasting her salty tears on his lips.

House froze.

She was crying.

Their eyes locked, and House felt his heart break. In her grey depths, he didn't see the desire he'd wanted, or the lust he'd expected. He saw pain. And fear.

House pulled away from her, the shock and horror better than a cold shower.

Cuddy rolled to her side, curling into a fetal position with her back to him.

He knew she was trying to stop the tears, to control the emotions surging through her and her physical response.

He frowned. He didn't know what was wrong. He didn't know what to do. She was trembling, her back and shoulders shuddering.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching out to gently touch her arm.

Cuddy shook her head.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, sliding up behind her and spooning her with his body.

"You didn't hurt me."

She sniffled and wiped her face with her hand.

He waited. What else could he do?

The minutes passed. House felt like it was hours. Confusing, powerless hours.

Cuddy finally sat up, pulling away from him and looking out into the water at the boat ramp.

"You scare me," she said.

His eyes widened and he warily watched and listened, trying to understand, hoping it would stop the searing pain that pierced him at her words.

"I want you too," she admitted, turning to face him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. "But you're a drug addict. You broke down in my office, and you're never sure if you're going to do it again. You quit your job at the drop of a hat, then return as if nothing happened, expecting everyone to deal with your mood swings. You're bouncing off the walls and I can't have that kind of instability in my life."

She looked at him pointedly.

"I have a daughter now," she said. "She needs me."

House looked away. He didn't like what she was saying, but he knew it was true.

"I'm sorry," she pleaded with him to forgive her, as if there were something to forgive.

House reached for his cane on the floor and awkwardly stood. His leg was killing him.

"I understand."

Cuddy felt the tears on her cheek again and cursed herself for suddenly being an emotional wreck. After all these months, she would choose now to break down.

House stared into the distance; his eyes were blank, void. The cool blue was chilling.

"My father was like that," his voice was husky and soft. She wasn't even sure he was talking to her. "I never knew if I was going to be taken out for ice cream, or taken out to the shed. I never knew where I stood…until I felt the pain."

House limped over to the boat and carefully climbed in, holding on to the dock post for support.

"House," she tried to stop him.

He looked up at her.

"You're doing the right thing," he said, and pushed away from the dock, away from her. He took the oars and placed them in the water.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. He looked so alone, so far away. So disappointed.

"You're a good mom," he said. Nodding as his eyes grew soft.

He meant it.

H H H

"The guy doesn't give up," House said, gesturing to Lucas who was talking to Cuddy in the plaza below.

Wilson came to stand with him on the balcony, leaning against the railing as they watched Cuddy put the guy in his place.

"You okay?"

"There were no drugs in the lake," he said. "I licked every lily pad and didn't get the slightest buzz."

"I wasn't worried about you falling off the wagon."

"You should be."

Wilson looked him.

"I'm sorry I told him about the hallucination."

"I trusted him when you were gone," House shrugged. "Can't blame you for following in my steps."

"You're a good friend."

"Hardly."

"I'm not just talking about this," he said, determined to make his point. He wanted to thank House for what he'd said at the podium when he'd read his speech, for what he'd done to help him.

House turned to face him.

"When you do what I did, it's not enough to tell yourself you did nothing wrong. You need to hear it from someone else. If not God or society, a friend. Otherwise you go crazy. What you said to me up there... Thank you. You're a good friend. You're dependable and stable in your own way. Cuddy should know that."

"Yeah," House smirked. "You should let her know that I drugged you so you wouldn't confess to murder."

Wilson grinned, but it didn't meet his eyes.

His friend had saved him today. He only wished he could actually save him.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you all for your patience. I had a guest this week that was just so demanding. She took up all my time! ;-) Special thanks to DrDiagnostic for listening to my rambling about story ideas during the car rides, and to the many readers who were so excited and impatient they sent PMs to nudge and demand. You are amazing.  
_

_Hope you all enjoy this chapter as things start to get interesting.  
_

_Disclaimer: You know._

* * *

**Not Another Day**

She hadn't been sleeping well.

It had been weeks since they'd returned from the conference and Cuddy still spent her nights thinking about him, second-guessing herself and wondering what he was really up to. This was House, after all. He was always up to something.

But he'd seemed so open, so vulnerable. So disappointed.

As the weeks passed, she'd found herself going over every word he said, every move he made. She thought about his expressions, his posture, the movement of his hands and fingers, and the way he looked at her. Always the way he looked at her.

Like the way he'd looked at her as he rowed the boat away from her.

_I understand._

Cuddy sighed heavily at the memory, rolled over in bed and stared up at the ceiling as she went over the last few weeks in her head.

House had thrown himself into work as soon as they'd returned to Princeton. He was determined to put his team back together, which was no small feat given his sheep had gone so far astray. As frustrated as they got with House and his crazy antics, as often as they grumbled and complained, without him they had no compass. Maybe that was why he chose them. They respected him as much as they resented him; they needed him as much as they worried about him. And they were worried, though they hid it from him.

Wilson had been worried too.

"Do you have any idea what's going on with House?" He'd confronted her in the clinic.

"Uh, he's trying to get his old fellows back?" she'd answered.

"It's called stalking."

"I am way too busy to play officer of the court."

"That's a shame, since you're the one who triggered this."

She'd glared at him, angry and upset by the accusation. She was just trying to do the right thing. She was trying to do what was best for her and her daughter. How dare he try to make her a villain!

"What happened with you two anyway?"

She'd been surprised House hadn't shared anything with him.

"If he didn't tell you, I don't know why I should."

"Because I'm supposed to be helping him, but you seem to be the only one he's talking to!"

He wasn't talking to her at all. At least not now. And it wasn't as if House had shared his deep, dark secrets at the conference. Except…

"_My father was like that. I never knew if I was going to be taken out for ice cream, or taken out to the shed. I never knew where I stood…until I felt the pain."_

House did have a way of dropping grenades at the most emotionally wrought and distracting times. But Wilson seemed to think House was confiding in her, leaning on her somehow. That couldn't be farther from the truth. He was as much an enigma as he'd ever been. If House had kept his distance before the conference, focusing on his medical license and finding his footing again, after the conference, he'd outright ignored her. Until Thanksgiving.

House had acted…strange, to say the least. She'd tried to talk with Wilson about it; they'd always been able to vent and brainstorm about House. Not anymore. Now, it always turned to an argument.

"I know he's up to something," she'd told him after House had inquired about her Thanksgiving plans. "He's doing clinic hours, he's keeping exceptional charts, and he even turned in his budget report on time. This morning he was making small talk with me!"

"He's trying to change," Wilson had said. "Stop expecting the worse."

"He said I was sexy and smart."

"He's always thought that."

"But he's never SAID it," she'd argued, then sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the cafeteria booth. "He's screwing with me."

"Or maybe he's trying to prove he's changed."

"You don't think I've considered that option?"

"I don't know what you're thinking," he'd startled her with his biting tone. "I don't even know you anymore. House has gone through a life-changing event, but instead of allowing him to change, you're going all children-of-the-corn on him."

"I haven't done anything to him."

"Except break his heart."

"I didn't break his heart!" she'd hissed. "You're the one who betrayed him, spilling all the gory details of his hallucination to Lucas!"

"I apologized for that!" That put him on the defensive. "We talked about it and we're fine. You're the one who can't figure him out. You're the one scheming."

"I'm not scheming!"

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do what House would do," she'd said. She was going to make a move that would force House to play his hand. Then she'd know if he was playing her or sincerely trying to change the way he interacted with her.

"This won't end well," Wilson had said.

That had been an understatement.

Cuddy groaned and rolled back onto her side, curling into a ball as she remembered.

She'd told him she was having a Thanksgiving lunch at her sister's and had even invited him, knowing he'd show up ready to wreak havoc. She'd even told the house sitter to have a turkey sandwich ready for him. She'd known it was mean spirited, but it was the type of stunt that was right up his alley, and she was ready to beat him at his own game.

Except it apparently hadn't been a game.

He hadn't shown up at her sister's. He'd somehow ascertained – as only House can – that she was playing him. At five o-clock that evening, a delivery truck arrived at her home with warming trays and a full Thanksgiving spread.

"This stuff smells delicious," the delivery guy had announced as he'd brought it into her kitchen. "That guy should be a caterer or something."

"What guy?" she'd asked, puzzled. "Where did this come from?"

He'd handed her a note:

_This will taste better than the Tofurkey you're planning. _

_It's never wise to poison your friends._

_H_

It had been completely unexpected: him not showing up at her sister's AND the gourmet meal he'd apparently prepared.

She'd barely made it through dinner with her friends; the guilt was torture.

Later that night, when she'd come to see him, Wilson had answered the door.

"Did you bring leftovers?" he'd said.

"Is he here?" She didn't want to fight with Wilson, and she could tell by his expression he was ready for battle.

"He's cleaning the kitchen, which is code for brooding and withdrawing in case you're coming up with a scheme to figure out his reactions and motives for this too."

She'd looked away, knowing she deserved his harsh words.

But when House had finally come to the door, he hadn't been angry or upset. In fact, he'd given her a totally blank expression. It was daunting how she couldn't read him anymore.

"I thought you were screwing with me," she'd told him.

"I know."

"I was cruel."

"You were strategic."

And just like that, he'd let her off the hook.

She'd searched his eyes, before saying: "You knew."

He'd shrugged.

"Based on history, circumstance and fears, it was an easy puzzle to solve."

She hated when he was Sherlock.

She loved that he was Sherlock.

"Then, why would you do all this?" she'd asked.

"Counter attack," he'd gruffly said, leaning on the door jam. It didn't escape her notice that he wasn't inviting her in. "A killing-with-kindness type of thing."

She'd felt ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she'd said. "I really did think you were up to something."

He'd paused a beat, watching her closely before responding.

"I was."

The admission was surprising; his honesty was unsettling.

So he had been up to something, but it hadn't been a game. She'd seen it in his eyes, had understood it in the unspoken words. It had been sincere attempt to reach out to her, a step to get close to her. She'd blocked him. She wasn't sure if that had been the right or wrong thing to do.

"I don't know how to be with you," she'd admitted, confused and more than a little daunted.

"I know," he'd said. "I need you just to be you."

Cuddy felt her reserve topple.

_Check-Mate. _

He'd not been playing a game, but it was a game nonetheless.

He'd set out to break the ice, to get her to engage and play with him again. A strategic move, even if petty and cruel, was better than the walls of silence that had existed between them since the conference.

As soon as she'd realized what he'd done, she'd felt a web of intimacy weave around them. It was as strong as ever, in spite of the very clear boundaries she'd set.

"You said you understood my decision," she'd said.

"You said you wanted to be friends."

She'd frowned.

"Can we be friends?" She didn't know any more.

"I don't know," he'd said, echoing her thoughts. His eyes were unwavering as he added, "But I'd rather try than lose you."

Cuddy flung the sheets off her body and slipped out of bed, frustrated again.

He's killing me. Slowly killing me, she thought.

As she stepped into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, she found herself feeling a little jealous of Wilson. This had been an uncertain time for all of them. Their relationships were changing. The dynamics between them had been altered and they were all trying to regain balance and find a new way to interact. Wilson was faring better than her. Well, in some ways.

She'd given into his request to donate a part of his liver to his friend. It was such a radical move, even for Wilson. Especially given his friend was a selfish, self-absorbed jerk. She'd been sure House would stop him, but after the initial objections, he'd actually respected Wilson's decision…or rather, his stupidity.

Wilson was a moron.

But House was…amazing.

She'd found him in the surgical viewing room, watching every move. He was tense and alert, as if he'd been ready to jump into action at the first sign of trouble. She'd slipped into the room and stood silently beside him.

She'd been scared; scared something would go wrong, scared of losing her friend, scared of what it would do to House if it all went bad.

"He's all I've got," House had broken through her thoughts with his soft spoken words.

She'd swallowed her emotions and taken his hand in hers.

"No, he's not."

He'd looked down at her hand and she'd thought he would pull away. She'd even braced for his rejection. But his fingers had wrapped around her hand and he'd squeezed it lightly.

"He's an idiot," he'd said.

Cuddy had laughed. It had felt so right being with him, holding his hand and facing their fears together. It was unsettling how easy it was to be with him, how natural it felt. She'd welcomed the page that had sent her scurrying from the room, leaving him alone…and her, lonely.

But House had waited with Wilson in recovery, then waited in his room while he slept off the remainder of the anesthesia. He hadn't left his friend's side.

Cuddy had been a bit in awe.

When she'd joined them later that evening, they had spent over an hour joking and laughing, teasing and mocking. It had felt like old times and she'd felt relieved – happy even - because she thought they were going to be okay.

She'd told them she was considering moving to a loft apartment, trying to turn over a new leaf and make a fresh start with Rachel.

Of course, she'd found out later that Wilson had bought the space right out from under her.

Cuddy placed the empty glass in the sink and looked out the kitchen window as she remembered Wilson finally admitting what he'd done.

"You're not starting new," he'd said. "You're running."

_You run from what you want._

Cuddy stared up at the moon, full but partly shadowed by a cloud.

She didn't know what she wanted anymore. She didn't know what she felt anymore.

House and Wilson didn't seem to have any issues. They'd figured it out and rebuilt their relationship. It was stronger now than ever. But she was an outsider.

Cuddy slipped back into her room and crawled into bed, thinking more about House and Wilson.

She'd been envious hearing about their antics as they settled into the loft. Of course, she hadn't heard about it from them; she'd heard about it from Charles, whose sister lived down the hall from them.

Nora had told Charles all about the handsome neighbor who gave great massages. Cuddy had tried not to show any emotion as they shared a bottle of wine one night and Charles gave her all the details of her sister's relationship with House.

"You are so jealous right now," Charles had teased.

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I am," she buried her head in the sofa pillow she was holding.

He'd tormented her a little longer before disclosing that Nora thought they were gay.

Cuddy's eyes widened in shock.

"House is not gay."

"To be fair," Charles had said. "That is a little hard to believe considering he proposed to Wilson."

Cuddy stared at him and Charles tried not to laugh.

"What?"

Charles had delighted in giving her all the juicy details.

Cuddy couldn't stop laughing.

She'd laughed about it for days, but also felt a sense of sadness because she was laughing alone. They weren't with her. She was no longer in their circle. With every passing day, she felt the loss a little more.

Cuddy hugged one of the bed pillows close to her chest as she thought about House destroying the picture in her office. He'd cut and pasted – literally - a picture of him and Wilson into the frame. Now she could see it was his childish, unorthodox way of telling her she was still one of them. She wasn't alone. At the time, she'd been too devastated to see anything but the damage he'd done.

She'd confronted him, the anguish overriding the anger.

"I had forgotten your deep emotional attachment to lemurs," House had said, sarcastically.

"To my dad," she'd said.

"You got his tail?"

"He was holding the camera," she'd explained, and even she could hear the quiver in her voice. "That was the last trip we ever took together. And I don't have a digital copy."

There'd been a flash of shock and guilt on his face before he'd slipped behind a shield of obstinacy.

"Well, I could stand here all day apologizing, but I'd rather expiate my sins with good clean work."

He'd walked away and she'd spent the afternoon crying.

Cuddy heard her alarm and quickly hit the off button. She'd hardly gotten any sleep and she was facing a daunting battle with AtlanticNet among other things. It was going to be a long day.

As she began her yoga routine, she remembered the evening House found her in her office, still teary eyed after another bought of crying. She'd been unable to stop thinking about her father. House's little stunt had opened the flood gates.

"I'm sorry," he'd said, his voice cautious and raspy.

She'd leaned back in her chair, tired and spent as she'd looked at him and sighed. He really was trying.

"I shouldn't have gotten so upset," she'd said. "It's just…the trip didn't end well."

He'd frowned, leaning forward slightly as he listened closely to what she was saying.

"We were fighting," she'd explained. "I'd…I had…He was disappointed in me."

House hadn't responded, but his eyes had never left her.

"It was our last trip together," she'd said. "We didn't have a chance to make up before he died."

"Unresolved parent issues suck," he'd said gruffly.

Cuddy had smiled. He understood.

_My father was like that…_

He was apparently dealing with his own unresolved issues.

"It doesn't matter what you did or didn't do, Cuddy," he'd gently said. "It doesn't matter how mad he was, in the end he forgave you."

"How can you be so sure?" she'd asked with a hint of defense. "You didn't know him."

"I know you," he'd said. "Nothing YOU could ever do is beyond forgiveness for someone who loves you."

Cuddy forced herself to breathe as she stepped into her next pose. It was amazing how even the memory of those words took her breath away. But it wasn't just his words. It was his expression, the way he looked at her, the way she felt when she was with him. It was…him. Sometimes it took all the strength she had not to fall into his arms…or to jump his bones, depending on the situation.

She felt the hollow, pulsing sensation low in her stomach and knew she had to stop thinking about it. She had to stop thinking about him. This wasn't about her or her hormones. It wasn't even about her feelings. She was a mother now; her decisions were all about Rachel.

As if on cue, her daughter started crying.

The lack of sleep, her emotions, the demands of motherhood and the responsibilities of her job were weighing her down this morning. She didn't know if she had the strength to tackle the day.

Rachel was running a fever. She was fussy and miserable and only wanted to be held. Cuddy tried to calm her, but she cried through their shower, cried as she got dressed, cried as she put on her make-up. There wasn't a break in the screams. By the time Marina arrived, Cuddy was looking forward to the drive to work just for a little peace and quiet.

"Rough morning?"

Cuddy frowned as she saw House follow the nanny through the door, even as her a surge of longing shot through her from breast to core.

_Dammit! _

She ignored him while she told Marina about Rachel's fever and gave instructions for her care.

"She'll be fine," Marina assured her as she took Rachel into her arms. "I'll take care of her."

As she disappeared down the hall toward the nursery, Cuddy began to gather her things. She didn't want to look at him; she felt like a horny teenager.

"Why are you here?" she abruptly asked, as she reached for her jacket.

He took the opportunity to glance down her shirt at her cleavage. "Morning fix."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and hoped the heat she felt creeping up her neck did not include a visual. "At 6:30 in the morning?"

"Never got to sleep," he said. "Was on a stakeout."

She looked at him then. "You're still hanging out with Lucas?" Was he nuts?

"Can't hate the guy for taking a stab at the ultimate fantasy," he pointed out, quirking his brow to confirm that was her. "Besides, he needed someone who could diagnose a soft tissue injury from across the street."

"You both need a life," she said. And she needed to get out of here. Fast.

"Which is why I'm here," he said, holding her jacket as she stretched to slip her arms through the sleeves. "Things got a little slow, so we made some wagers."

"I don't have time for this, House," she sighed. "The entire hospital is depending on a proposal I haven't finished yet, and I need to present it at 8:30."

"You're tense."

_No, duh!_

"You saw Rachel. She's been impossible," she said as she pulled the scarf around her neck.

_I'm also extremely frustrated and you look delicious…_

"You need an orgasm."

_Oh, God, no!_

"You're an ass."

"I'm serious," he said, stepping in front of her when she turned to pick-up her briefcase. "You can't do a presentation like this. You need to get off."

Cuddy gave him an impatient and barely tolerant look. He really had no idea he was stepping into a mine field.

"And you're graciously offering to help?"

"Haven't you heard?" He was fighting a grin. "I'm now a team player. It's the new me."

Her jaw shifted as she tried not to laugh at - or respond to - his teasing. Her eyes measured him, slowly looking him up and down. If he only knew what she wanted to do with him.

"Okay," she finally said with a saucy glance. "Let's go."

His eyes widened and he stared at her, stunned.

She waited.

He shifted his weight, stepping back slightly as a flush crept up his neck.

Cuddy wanted to laugh. And cry. And scream.

"That's what I thought," she finally said, shaking her head at his panicked expression. She picked-up her briefcase and gave him one last look. "Goodbye, House," she said with a tone of finality, and walked out the door.

H H H

Cuddy slumped against the pedestal sink, her hands braced on the edge as she sought to calm her nerves.

Her day had gone from bad to worse.

The GRC was pressuring her about budgets, it looked like Gail, the pharmacy technician, was embezzling drugs, the hospital was being sued, she'd pushed the negotiations with AtlanticNet to the point of no return and now the board was threatening to fire her if the contract fell through. Trying to deal with it all while preventing a war between the diagnostic department and Dr. Hourani, juggling operating room schedules and breaking up a fist fight between Chase and Thomas was stretching the limits of her patience, and even more, her endurance.

And then there was House.

She'd tried to think about the things he'd told her, the way he'd helped her gain perspective on the situation.

"Do the math," he'd said. "Nothing else."

He'd been subtly hovering all day, showing up just when she was feeling most anxious and overwhelmed. His incessant teasing and continued requests for insane approvals should have increased her stress. Instead, it calmed her, empowered her. She found herself wanting to be with him even as she reminded herself of the reasons she was working so hard to keep her distance.

It was impossible. She couldn't stay away from him. He'd made sure of that.

_Damn him and his talk of orgasms!_

She was frustrated. As much as she tried to ignore it, her libido had chosen today of all days to awaken from its dormant state and explode in a bursts of pure lust. If it weren't for the stunned look on his face this morning, she would have thought House had planned and orchestrated it somehow. But he'd been speechless when she'd called his bluff, almost paralyzed by her acceptance.

_You need to get off._

Boy, he'd said a mouth full.

Cuddy groaned and closed her eyes against the images her own phrasing provoked.

_He was naked beneath that sheet._

When she'd walked into his office and found him on that massage table, she'd felt a surge of desire. She'd tried to hide it, complaining that no one cared about the hospital but her and demanding he get his team under control. But she'd barely been able to keep her eyes focused on his face instead of tracing the length of him. She'd had an instant fantasy of tossing that sheet aside and straddling him right then and there. Her body was so attuned to him, as if they were somehow wired together like…

She felt him behind her.

She could feel his heat, that restless, barely-controlled energy. It was almost as if the months of keeping her distance and setting boundaries had only managed to intensify her awareness of him. As if she needed to be any more aware of him!

Cuddy opened her eyes and looked at his reflection in the mirror as he stood behind her, catching her eyes in a sharp, concentrated stare.

"You're wound too tight," he said.

His voice was husky, his gaze unyielding. She noted a hint of uncertainty beneath an unwavering resolve.

But then his hands were sliding around her waist, lightly caressing her stomach as he stepped closer to her.

"What are you doing?" She gasped as she felt the length of him against her back.

His fingers were gliding along her abdomen.

_Oh yes!_

Oh, how she wanted his touch.

_No! _

Her hands cupped the outside of his, halting their ascent just millimeters beneath her breasts.

She couldn't do this, couldn't allow this. He couldn't be doing this!

_What is he doing?_

"You need to get off," he said, echoing his words from earlier this morning.

Cuddy rolled her eyes, her head falling backward slightly in exasperation only to be cushioned against his shoulder.

"I don't have time for your games," she said, but her voice was airy, her breathing labored. She didn't have the strength for this.

_He feels SO good._

He leaned down into her, his breath heating the skin around her ear. She felt his chin against her neck, the texture of his beard sending a shiver down her spine.

"No games," he said, moving his hands from beneath hers.

He cupped her breasts.

Cuddy gasped.

"Breathe," he whispered. Her nipples were already hard, sensitized and ready to ignite the charge that would set her totally on fire.

"House," she tried to object. Her body was begging her not to.

This was so unlike him. It was so unlike her. But it was so good.

His fingers circled her nipples, teasing and tormenting. She leaned back into him, seeking more contact, unable to resist the gravitational pull. He lightly squeezed her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and Cuddy groaned.

She could feel the heat building between her thighs. Just one touch from this man and her body was crying out for more, desperate and seeking, aroused beyond logic or care. She fought not to cry out when he dropped on of his hands.

But then his hand was lifting her skirt.

"House."

She didn't know if she was trying to stop him or encourage him.

"Shh."

His breath was against her ear, his beard against her neck, his hand teasing her breast; it was all too much. He cupped her mound and the pressure through her panties sent a surge of need through her.

This was wrong. She shouldn't allow this. She shouldn't encourage it. But there was no turning back.

She could feel the rhythm of his heart, the staccato of his breathe, the pulse of his erection. Cuddy moaned and instinctively pushed into his hand.

"Oh."

She heard him moan as his fingers slipped beneath the elastic and moved along the slick lips of her slit.

The muscles in her thighs tensed and she fought off the wave arousal that threatened to take her over the edge of quickly.

"Don't fight it," he whispered.

As if she could.

His fingers circled her clit, seeking and awakening every nerve ending before landing on the now engorged tip. The sensation sent her mind into delirium and her body into a primal state. She began to writhe against him, fighting the tidal wave crashing through her even as she was washed in the pleasure of it.

He held her tight, his caress unrelenting.

"Let it go, Cuddy," he said.

At some point, his hand had slipped beneath her blouse and pushed her bra aside. She felt his calloused fingers and his soft palm; she felt his tongue on her neck, and it was her undoing.

Cuddy bit her lip to prevent a scream from being released. She pushed back against him as her hips pressed into his hand, her thighs tightening around him.

Her orgasm hit with dizzying strength. Wave upon wave crashed through her, sending her along the rapids of want and lust. She needed it to stop, him to stop, before she passed out from exhausted ecstasy. Yet, she never wanted it to end.

"Please," she whimpered.

His finger plunged into the depth of her, creating a friction along her already pulsating and pounding walls. His thumb flicked her clit with the same rhythm. She'd never felt anything like it. She catapulted over the cliff of passion and into a sea of satiated bliss.

Cuddy didn't know how long he held her against him, soothing and caressing her thigh and abdomen as he waited for her return to consciousness. She was afraid to look up, afraid of the smug arrogance and the mocking grin she was sure to find.

_I'll never live this down._

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to look at his reflection in the mirror.

House was watching her with eyes wide in awe and wonder. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing labored, the flush along his neck and beneath the scruff of his beard more red than pink. The way his blue eyes glittered reminded her of a night so many years ago, that first night when he'd devoured her with the clumsiness of youth and the passions of a man. His entire focus was on her as if in this moment nothing existed for him outside of her.

It was always a powerful and provocative feeling: being the sole focus of a man like House.

"You're amazing," he said.

Cuddy moaned. She was never going to be able to resist him.

She turned in his arms ready to face him, to kiss him, to bring him the same pleasure he'd just brought her.

But her phone went off with a shrilling alarm.

"Shit!" she hissed.

It was the AtlanticNet deadline. They hadn't responded. She'd overplayed her hand.

Cuddy pulled away from him and began adjusting her clothes, already focusing more on what she would say to the board – and to the staff – to explain her moves and still maintain a sense of calm determination and focused leadership.

"I thought they'd give in," she said.

House had stepped back and was leaning against the wall watching her. At any other time, she'd be tempted to put on a show for him, spend a little time teasing him with what he wanted to see and could only imagine. Now, she couldn't think of anything but work. The euphoria of just moments ago had vanished to be replaced with disappointment and an overriding sense of failure.

She ran her fingers through her hair and turned to look at herself in the mirror to repair any damage that had been done during that most amazing orgasm.

_That orgasm._

Okay, so she couldn't totally forget that orgasm. Her body still hummed with pleasure.

She turned to look at him.

"I have to go," she almost apologized, feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving before they had a chance to talk about what had just happened. Or take it a step further.

House nodded.

"You don't mind if I stay her a few minutes, right?"

The hint of frustration and unresolved lust in his voice had her eyes wondering below his belt. He had a very healthy erection. Oh, did he have an erection.

Cuddy closed her eyes against the rush of desire that so quickly returned. Knowing she affected him this way, seeing what she did to him, made her want to toss aside all responsibility and spend some time feasting on him, satisfying every desire they had for each other.

She couldn't. She shouldn't. She shouldn't have allowed what had already happened, but at the same time she couldn't regret it. She felt better than she'd felt in months, years.

Cuddy stepped over to him, cupping his jaw, and kissing him firmly on the lips.

"I owe you," she said, giving him a steady, knowing look.

He gave her a rather pained, awkward grin, but it was enough. She turned to leave, already thinking about how she would address the staff and what her next move would be to compensate for the loss of AtlanticNet.

She heard him shuffle behind her, and turned.

He was already unzipping his jeans and she wanted to stay. She really wanted to stay. She didn't know whether to be appalled at her sudden desire to watch him masturbate at the thought of her, or to laugh at the knowledge he'd barely make it through two strokes before she'd take over.

"Take your time," she teased, feeling empowered as a woman though deflated as an administrator and leader.

"Believe me," he said, looking squarely at her. "It will only take a minute."

H H H

The day had gotten better, of course. AtlanticNet realized she was serious about splitting with them and decided to meet her 12% demand; she'd obtained proof that Gail was stealing from the pharmacy and had the pleasure of watching her get escorted from the hospital, and the board now considered her their greatest asset. Not only that, Marina had called to say Rachel's fever was down. What more could she ask for?

_An orgasm._

Cuddy couldn't stop smiling as she thought about it. She could still feel his hands on her, his breath against her neck. She could still feel his eyes on her.

_You're amazing._

He'd said it was such reverence, as if watching her orgasm was a religious experience for him. She half expected him to get down on his knees.

_Imagine what he could do on his knees._

Cuddy crawled into bed and tried not to think about it. She'd never get any sleep if she went down that rabbit hole. Thinking of House was her own kind of porn; today had made it an addiction.

When she'd been at the podium announcing AtlanticNet's decision to grant the increase, she'd been overjoyed by the reaction of the hospital staff. And yet her eyes had been drawn to House.

He was sitting in the back, watching her, seeing her, looking deep into her heart and soul. His expression was a complex blend of pride, tenderness and lust that her body was incapable of ignoring. An image of him hard and hungry popped into her mind and she forced herself to look away from him, to focus on the questions from the staff.

In retrospect, she wasn't sure how she'd done it. In fact, she wasn't sure how she'd made it through the rest of the day.

_I owe you._

She'd been waiting for him at every turn, expecting him to cash in on her promise. She kept thinking he'd grab her in the stairwell, or pull her into the janitor's closet. Even when she'd been in the clinic, she'd been envisioning him slipping into the room and locking the door behind him. The idea of a rendezvous with House had become a rather intrusive and distracting fantasy.

She had to be honest with herself. This was a debt she was looking forward to paying. She only wondered when he was going to make the call. The waiting game was proving to be a special brand of foreplay that kept her in a perpetual state of pre-arousal.

Cuddy jumped when the phone rang beside her bed. It was 10 o'clock at night, who the hell would be calling…

She smiled as she glanced at the name on the display.

_House._


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you to all my readers, especially those who have commented and written me the sweet and hilarious notes. I am very grateful._

_This chapter is dedicated to the Birthday Girl, DrDiagnostic. Enjoy the added somethin' somethin' on your special day._

_And to my friends...I expect some comments on this one. Come on now, there's some good stuff here. Talk to me._

_Put your life vest on. This ride is a fun one._

_Disclaimer: Shore could have done so much more. I hate that I don't own House._

* * *

**Unlocked**

Cuddy was stopped at the security booth as soon as she turned into the marina. She'd had to play the doctor card, explaining to the guard that the man on the motorcycle had left the hospital without authorization and was in danger. That, along with a mild amount of flirting, seemed to be enough to get her a pass. Now she just needed to find where he parked, hopefully in an area that would reveal which dock he'd entered.

_What is House doing at the docks?_

She'd been at the nurse's station in the clinic when he'd left the hospital. His head was bowed, his limp was much more pronounced than she'd seen in months, and there was something in his profile that triggered concern. He hadn't even glanced toward her office; he hadn't noticed she was there. He looked…weary. He was definitely distracted.

To be honest, he'd appeared frustrated and disgruntled for a few days. It went beyond his normal grumpiness, or even the melancholy of the pre-Mayfield days. She'd been picking up on a pervading sadness, and perhaps a sense of defeat. It was worrying to say the least.

Cuddy drove around the parking area connecting the first two docks. When she didn't see his motorcycle, she turned onto the main drive, following the signs to the next set of docks.

_He hadn't called._

After he'd got her off in her office restroom, she'd been convinced he would quickly cash in the I.O.U. she'd given him. When her phone rang that night and she'd seen it was him, her stomach had fluttered and a surge of excitement shot through her.

But he'd only been checking in with her about a new case he was taking that needed some approvals. He hadn't even mentioned what had happened between them, hadn't asked what she was wearing or teased her about being alone in bed when she didn't need to be. He'd been almost professional.

She'd been confused. And angry. At herself mostly.

She was the one who'd set the boundaries, who'd said he didn't fit in her life. She was the one who couldn't stop thinking about him. She was the one who'd let him touch her.

Cuddy felt the flush creeping up her neck.

How often had her mind relived that moment? How often had she fantasized more?

She suspected that was part of the plan. Or had been.

_That was pretty cool what I did, right? You wanna makeout?_

Just a few days after their intimacy, he was teasing her, not just with the suggestion, but by making it clear he knew the affect he had on her. He'd always known his mind had intrigued her, his genius was a turn-on. He'd figured that out when they'd met in Michigan. It didn't take more than a heated glance or a soft touch to know the chemistry between them took it to another level. Nothing had changed over the years. If anything, it was magnified over time.

But then everything had seemed to shift.

He'd been distant, avoiding her it seemed. She knew he'd been playing puppet master, jerking Taub around for his incessant infidelity and challenging Wilson to decorate the loft he'd purchased – the loft she'd wanted – and make it his own.

Wilson could be such a nerd. She'd given him the name of a decorator to help him stop the insanity, but it had been an organ that had actually made an impact on House. When Wilson told her how he'd reacted to the keyboard instrument, she felt a tinge of jealousy...and guilt. He'd obviously been moved, soothed to know he had a place with Wilson, a place in his life. As Wilson shared the story, she'd realized it was what House was seeking, a place. He was searching for a connection that couldn't be broken. It had been the reason for the shenanigans with Taub – to force him to remember his commitment, and maybe even appreciate the gift he had in his wife – and it was the reason he sought confirmation that Wilson wouldn't leave him. He'd secretly been harboring that fear since Amber had died and Wilson had walked away declaring they'd never really been friends. Even though their relationship had returned to normal, it hadn't completely "healed."

Cuddy drove around the parking area of the third set of docks as sadness crept in.

House had wanted a connection with her. She'd known that, or at least had suspected it all along. It had been the point of their push-pull during the months before his breakdown. They'd been dancing around each other for years, but the pressure had built and something had to give. She'd tried to force him to admit his feelings; he'd tried to get her to admit hers. She'd taken the coward's way out, often suggesting something was there without ever saying it. House had needed more. He'd certainly wanted more. The hallucination had confirmed it. But at what cost?

_There it is._

His motorcycle was in the handicap spot at the entrance to dock seven, so she found a parking space nearby.

She found him at a slip about midway down the dock. The boat motor was idling and he was untying one of the ropes.

"What are you doing here?" he said. He didn't look up as he awkwardly limped to the next rope.

"I followed you."

"I can see that," he said gruffly.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

He tossed the rope onto the boat before looking at her.

"Gathering tools for a red room of pain," he said. "Want to be tied up?"

She ignored his words and the fluttering low in her stomach.

"You sail?"

"Sail boats have sails," he said, tossing the third rope onto the boat before walking toward her again. "This is a Sea Ray."

There was a bite to his sarcasm, an impatience that left her more concerned.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing is wrong with her," he answered. "She's designed this way."

House stepped in front of her, standing close and looking at her suggestively. "Want to check out my thrusters?"

"Funny," she said, crossing her arms at her chest. "I'm talking about you. I was worried about you."

"I'm fine."

He quickly turned away, the movement almost frantic.

"No," she said. "I don't think you are."

House ignored her, focusing instead on untying a rope on the other side of the boat.

"I heard you were with a patient that died."

"Yep."

"It's okay to be upset."

"He wasn't my patient," he said. "Ergo, I'm not upset."

Cuddy sighed. He was such an ass.

"You were in the room."

"Ischemic cardiomyopathy," he said. "Nothing I could do."

"Don't act like you don't care."

"I don't."

"You're obviously upset," she said.

"No." He tossed the last rope onto the boat and glared at her. "You're upset."

"Talk to me," she pleaded.

"I'm shoving off," he said.

She grabbed his arm. "House."

He jerked away from her, turning to glare at her with bitter eyes.

"What do you want, Cuddy?"

She flinched.

"You feeling horny?" he asked with a bite to his tone. "You need me to get you off again?"

Cuddy saw red. "Don't do that!" she said through clenched teeth, stepping forward into his space. "Don't turn it into something ugly! Don't make me regret it."

She could see the remorse in his stare as it battled with whatever demons were driving him.

"Go home," he finally said, turning away from her as he stepped onto the boat.

She would not be dismissed. Cuddy took off her heels and followed him, coming to stand beside him at the captain's chair.

"I'm leaving dock, Cuddy," he threatened.

"Why? What is going on?"

"You need to go."

"Tell me," she insisted.

He gripped the helm, but turned his head to look at her. His eyes were glassy with raw shame…and resolve.

"If I don't get out on the water in the next few minutes, I'll be hitting the streets for a fix," he finally said.

Cuddy froze.

_Oh._

This was serious.

He waited for her to fully comprehend before turning away to adjust the nobs and buttons on the panel. "Now get off the boat and go home," he said, his voice softer. "You've been looking for someone else's child all day. Go be with yours."

She was stunned: not just by his admission, but by his sensitivity to her struggle during the fiasco at the hospital.

Cuddy reached for him and ran her hand along his back.

"I'm not leaving you," she said.

He shook his head in frustration and released an overdramatic sigh.

"Fine."

House threw the boat in gear and powered the thrusters.

Cuddy nervously sat in the passenger chair and gripped the arm rests as she stared out at the water in front of them.

"Relax," he said. "It's a no wake zone. It's not like I'm going on a suicide run."

Cuddy watched as he eased the boat from the slip and navigated the path to the open waves. He was very precise and certain with his moves.

"When did you learn to drive a boat?" she asked, surprised – and yet not – by his skill and ease.

"As a teenager," he answered easily. "In the Philippines."

Of course. As an army brat, he'd moved around a lot, living in places all around the world. He'd experienced a lot during those years.

"I needed a hobby," he explained.

"So you bought a boat?"

"Leased," he answered. "Nolan thinks I need something more than puzzles."

Cuddy listened intently. She wanted to know about his therapy; she wanted to know what they talked about, what he was dealing with and how he felt. She couldn't ask, but she could learn a lot from the crumbs of information he provided.

"Cooking can only go so far," he said. "And I was kicked out of cake decorating. Apparently not everyone appreciates body-part cakes, even if they are remarkably anatomically correct."

Cuddy grinned. "You didn't."

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"What else have you tried?"

"Bowling, golf, painting, knitting."

"Knitting?"

"You're getting mittens for your birthday."

Cuddy laughed.

"I had to find a few options," he added.

"You bore easy."

"Well, there's that."

She breathed in the night air, felt the gentle sway as they moved through the water, and felt the tension easing from her shoulders and neck.

"I can see why this works."

She watched him as he turned his attention back to the water. They were passing a buoy, and she rightly guessed it was a marker indicating they were exiting the no wake zone. House simultaneously shifted two levers and the boat picked up speed.

They were quiet as they moved along the water. She didn't know where they were headed or if they were just going for a ride, but she was happy to be with him.

Happy.

Cuddy tossed the word around in her mind, testing it, confirming it. She liked being with him, enjoyed him. She felt good with him.

House turned and scowled at her.

"What?" He was becoming uncomfortable with her stare.

Cuddy smiled and felt a warmth creep over her. Somehow she even enjoyed his brooding. It was all so perplexing, and thought-provoking.

"What other distractions work?" she asked.

He frowned.

"You said you had to find several options. Other than boating, what else works?"

"Music," he answered, and looked squarely at her. "And sex."

That was all it took for the tightening in her lower abdomen to return.

The wind pushed against her face and through her hair, but she didn't turn away from him.

"You didn't call," she said.

He knew what she was referencing.

_I owe you._

Fantasizing about cashing in on that promise was his new favorite fantasy.

"You didn't really want me to."

Cuddy quirked a brow. "I didn't?"

"Well, maybe parts of you did," he grinned.

She frowned, considering his expression and sorting through the emotional data in her head.

"Why did you do it?"

She'd been wondering. They'd been so distant, maintaining the boundaries she'd set with an astounding amount of focus and determination. And he wasn't one to make the first move. He waited, and baited. Yet he'd boldly stepped up behind her that day with the sole intention of giving her an orgasm.

He didn't answer. Instead, he abruptly shifted the conversation.

"I can take you back," he said. "If you need to be with Rachel. I'll be fine."

"I already made arrangements for Marina to stay the night," she said. "I wasn't sure how long the lockdown would be."

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer.

House slowed the engines as they pulled into a small cove. He went through the process of dropping the anchor and securing the helm, or whatever you did. She had no idea. It was interesting though. Maybe it was a hobby she should pursue, one they could share.

The thought gave her pause, and she watched as House squeezed by her and disappeared into the galley. It was almost as if she was unconsciously developing an argument for a relationship with him, a complete opposition to the reasonable decision she'd made so many months ago. Too many months.

He was only gone a few minutes before returning with a glass of wine and a bottle of beer.

"Only had Merlot," he said, handing her the glass.

He'd turned on the satellite radio and a rather eclectic mix of music played in the background. He settled into the cushions at the back of the boat, stretching his long legs out in front of him and staring up at the night sky.

She moved to sit beside him, closer than necessary while resisting the urge to touch him.

His mind could have been in the stars. He was in thinking mode, sorting through a puzzle, no doubt. She was content to sit with him and wait for his breakthrough.

Cuddy finished the glass of wine and was feeling pleasantly relaxed, but she couldn't stop thinking about the lockdown. It could have been worse. Much worse. But it was still unnerving how quickly things could shift from happy to terrifying.

"She'd been having complex seizures all day," Cuddy said, breaking their silence. "No one even noticed."

House turned to look at her.

"She could have really caused some damage."

He knew she was talking about Maldonado, who'd caused the entire lockdown fiasco. Gossip spread fast at the hospital.

"But she didn't," he said, simply.

"And what if it wasn't someone in housekeeping? What if it had been a nurse? Or a doctor?"

"If you're going to create an hourly seizure check policy, I'll hand in my resignation now."

"You mock me, but we really can't anticipate what's happening inside people from day to day," she said. "This could have been serious. She could have caused some real damage. Or she could have been hurt and no one even noticed."

"It's the nature of the beast," House responded nonchalantly.

"Yeah, you're so unconcerned until you're the one permanently maimed when your doctor seizes over you."

"I was permanently maimed when my doctor wasn't seizing."

Cuddy recoiled. It was only slightly, but House noticed.

"Relax," he sighed. "I'm just saying medicine isn't perfect. It's run by humans and humans get sick, have seizures, and even make mistakes…well, except for me."

Cuddy tried not to grin as she watched him arrogantly take a swig of beer.

"Of course," she said dryly. "You never make mistakes. I have the stack of lawsuits to prove it."

"Save a person's life and they live to bite you," he said. "That's human, too."

Sometimes she envied his ability to compartmentalize, to so totally separate himself from emotion.

"Everything can just change so fast, and you don't even see it coming," she sighed. "You think it's all business as usual, then the bottom gets ripped out from under you and nothing feels the same again. You can't feel safe."

"Like when your best doctor has a mental break in your office?"

Cuddy turned quickly. "I'm not talking about you," she reassured.

"Of course not," he said, standing and taking her glass with him as he disappeared into the galley.

Cuddy inwardly groaned. Closing her eyes, she sank down into the cushions and silently berated herself. She really had a gift of putting her foot in her mouth with him. Everything was perfect and with one sentence it was shit. They were always on such tenuous ground. How would they ever be able to have any kind of relationship if she couldn't talk to him about her fears and concerns without it being a reflection of him or a blow to ego?

_Relationship? _

What? She wanted a relationship now? After telling him it could never happen, she was now trying to find out how it could?

_God, I'm more screwed up than he is._

"You're pathetic," he said, jarring her from her thoughts as he sat down beside her again. "You're guilt is unattractive and unproductive."

She took the glass he'd refilled, and noted he'd gotten himself another beer.

"I really wasn't talking about you," she insisted.

"I'm not some fragile oaf, you know," he said. "I'm a drug addict who sees dead people. See the difference?"

Cuddy grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"My Vicodin levels were off the charts," he told her. "And I had been suppressing my emotions for too long."

Her eyes widened at such an admission.

"Don't gloat," he said. "It doesn't become you."

"That's the second time you've insulted my looks."

"As if you need my compliments."

"No," she agreed. "But I like them."

He shook his head. "That's not what you like."

"Oh, really," she readied herself for battle. "What is it I like House? Since you know me so well."

"You like the affect you have on men," he answered without pause. "You like the power and control that drives men to stupidity in your presence."

She couldn't argue with that.

"And you like the idea that you broke the one man you believed was unaffected."

Cuddy felt like she'd been punched.

"That is not true."

"Yes, it is," he said. If he'd been sarcastic, or flippant, it would be easier to debate. But he was calm as he looked out into the fog that was developing on the water. "You hate that I had a mental break, but there's a part of you that is self-satisfied knowing what I hallucinated and what it revealed."

Cuddy flushed. She felt ashamed because as much as she wanted to deny it, she knew there was an element of truth to what he was saying.

"Everyone knows this is going somewhere," he repeated the words she'd once said to him, raising his beer in a mock toast.

She didn't like to remember that day. She'd been throwing herself at him, more desperate to move things along than she'd ever felt. He'd responded by objectifying her, grabbing her breast and knocking her down, not just a peg, but completely out of the game. Nothing they had done in the days and weeks that followed had been enough to recover from that day.

"House…"

"You were right," he said, giving her a nod of concession. "I have the hots for you. It's okay to gloat."

_Have, not had._

"I'm not gloating."

"No," he agreed, looking at her in that way that saw right through her. "Not on the outside. But inside…you feel empowered."

"There's nothing about this that's empowering."

"Feel empowered, not is empowered," he reiterated, tossing the bottle cap he'd been holding into the nearby sink as if he were shooting a basketball. "Feelings and emotions don't adequately reflect the reality of any situation," he went on to say.

"But they do affect it."

"More than words," he agreed.

He turned to face her, propping his arm on the back cushion and bending his leg so his knee came to rest on the seat. "You'd much rather know you give me a hard-on than hear me say you're beautiful."

Cuddy forced herself not to look down as his crotch, but turned to look him in the eyes.

"You'd much rather hear me say I'm turned on than just know it," she challenged.

House grinned, his gaze moving slowly down her neck to linger on her breasts.

"Oh, I'd much rather know it than hear you say it," he said, his eyes returning to hers. "But admitting it means YOU know it, which moves it to a different level altogether."

"Because you win?" she asked. "Because then you have the power?"

"Hardly," he said. "When it comes to women, men never have the power they imagine."

"Then what? It makes me submissive? Which makes you dominant?"

House had an image of Cuddy tied to the bed, naked and open to…He caught her grin and shook his head dramatically to clear the thought from his brain.

"That was just mean," he said.

Cuddy laughed.

He shifted in his seat again, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles.

"He'd asked to be my patient," House said, looking down at the bottle as he started to peel the label. "I turned his case down."

Cuddy redirected her thoughts to follow. He was talking about the patient he'd been locked in a room with today.

_Damn._

House couldn't treat everyone who sought out his assistance. It just wasn't possible. Knowing that and being trapped in a room with the results of it were two very different things.

"That must have been difficult."

House was glad she wasn't oozing with care and sympathy; she was just concerned. He didn't miss, however, that she turned her body toward him, curling her legs and propping her arm on the back cushion so her hand lightly touched his shoulder.

He didn't respond to her statement, but Cuddy noticed he angled slightly toward her hand.

"He died alone."

She slid her fingers along the line of hair at the back of his neck.

"You were with him."

"Yeah," he coughed. "I'm sure that was a comfort."

House couldn't stop thinking about their conversation.

"_You don't want the test, in case the arterial wall is fine. Which would mean that the pain is coming from something else…What's her name?"  
_  
Even a stranger could recognize his pain was psychosomatic driven.

He'd told Nash the truth. He had convinced himself he was better off alone. He'd denied it, ignored it, even fought against it, but then everything had changed. He couldn't fight it anymore.

_So this is the story you made about who you are. It's a nice one. Too bad it's not true._

House sighed at the memory: Amber and Kutner. How long would it haunt him?

He'd told Nash he was better off alone. "We suffer alone, we die alone," he'd said. "Doesn't matter if you're a model husband or father of the year, tomorrow will be the same for you."

_But yesterday would have been different._

Nash was right. If the past had been different, he wouldn't have lost Cuddy.

"You won't die alone," Cuddy's voice broke through his reverie.

House turned to look at her, trapping her hand between his head and the cushion.

"You think that's what I'm worried about."

"I think you think about it more than you admit."

"I've always been alone."

"So have I," she said. They were alike in that way. No one really ever got them. "Doesn't mean I want to die alone."

"Dying alone can't be any worse than living alone."

And there is was.

Cuddy sifted through the details of the conversation, tracing the thread to find the common theme in the two topics they'd been discussing, searching for the truth he was revealing.

"Admitting it means you're not alone," she said, her voice only a little stronger than a whisper as she began to understand.

House didn't respond, but she knew she'd guessed correctly.

"He waited too long," House said, not wavering from his thought process. "By the time he admitted his feelings, it was too late. He didn't think he deserved a chance, so he made sure he didn't get one. His death bed declaration was just empty words."

"I disagree," she said. "His words won't create a future or change the past, but they will give some kind of closure, good or bad. Things left unresolved can drive you crazy."

House thought about Kutner and how he'd appeared in his hallucinations, and sometimes still haunted his dreams.

"Yeah," he said, looking down at the label he was still nervously peeling off the bottle. Cuddy caught the haze of grief that overshadowed him.

"Do you talk to your therapist about them?"

He quirked a brow in question. She couldn't read his thoughts that well, could she?

"About your feelings?" she said.

_Of course. Feelings._

"About Kutner? Amber?... Your dad?"

_Damn._

"It took you longer than I thought to let the busy-body come out," he said, intentionally diverting the conversation.

Cuddy looked away, embarrassed.

"You're as bad as Wilson," he teased. "Dying to know what I'm saying, what secrets I'm sharing."

"I was just…"

"Nosy."

She bit her lip in that way that made him want to kiss her then dropped her head back against the cushion.

"You're right," she said. "You in therapy is something I can't fathom. I can't help but be curious."

"Curious," he scoffed. "Right."

"I'm concerned."

"No. You want to know if I talk about you."

"I want to know if it's helping," she argued. But of course she wanted to know if he talked about her! Who wouldn't?

"Do YOU think it's helping?" he asked.

"You tell me."

"I'm the patient, how would I know?"

"You're such a jerk."

"That's what he says."

Cuddy smiled. She imagined Dr. Nolan did say that quite often.

House stood abruptly. She wasn't going to get an answer. That was clear.

"Come on," he said. "We've got to get sailing. Wait!..." he turned to look at her, eyes wide and mocking.

Cuddy laughed. "Shut up," she said. "I didn't know."

"You're about to learn," he said. "Here, take this down to the galley with your glass. Trash is under the sink. Glasses are stored in the above cabinet."

"You're going to teach me about boats by making me your maid?"

"If you were my maid, your skirt would be more French," he said. "Or you'd be naked."

Cuddy stood and took the bottle he held out to her. "Now that's just mean," she sassed as she passed him and disappeared into the galley.

While House lifted the anchor and prepared the boat, Cuddy did as she was instructed, but then took her time to look around. The kitchen was small, of course, and the bathroom was tiny, but the bed was huge.

It's almost a queen sized, and in that little space it became the focal point. She wondered if he actually slept there. He was living with Wilson, after all. Maybe he sometimes needed the space. Maybe he didn't come here alone.

Cuddy was quiet as she joined him at the helm. She didn't want to think about him with someone else, which wasn't fair given the fact she'd basically said she didn't want him.

House glanced over at her and grinned. "All this time we wasted talking when we could have been doing the nasty in that bed."

"You're disgusting," she said. But she had considered that. More than considered, she'd imagined.

"It's a genetic mutation."

She chuckled and looked out at the water. "How on earth can you see anything?" she asked.

He pointed out the navigation and explained boat lights and water rules and whatever else he was saying. She was losing track. Seeing him this relaxed and enthusiastic was a bit of a turn-on. Or maybe it was the wine. She didn't know. She couldn't think of anything except how thrilling it was to be with him like this. Well, and his eyes she could think about his eyes. And his mouth. And that bed. And the way his fingers moved over the gears.

"Come here," he said, stepping back so she could step in front of him. "Steer for a minute while I prepare the ropes.

"I don't know anything about boats."

"I just explained it," he pointed to the navigation screen. "See that's us. No other vessel around. The other panels tell me the status and efficiency of the engines. These levers are the gears and these are the thrusters. None of which you need to know. Just take the wheel and keep it straight for a few minutes."

"What if something happens? What if we have an accident?"

"That shirt would become see-through," he said, looking down at her breasts. "I'd be fine."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Cuddy glared. House laughed.

"It will be okay," he said. "Trust me."

House prepared the ropes for docking. He really didn't need to, but if he hadn't stepped away he would have kissed her. She was beautiful. She was always beautiful, but with the wind blowing through her hair and her cheeks flushed from the wine, she was breathtaking. He didn't know what was going on between them. In some ways it felt as if they were closer than they'd ever been, but they weren't. She'd made her feelings clear. He wasn't good for her daughter. But then she'd let him touch her. And she was here. It was all so confusing.

"I can see why you love this," she said when he returned. Her face was aglow with excitement.

It was going to take more than a few minutes away from her to stop the heat growing between them.

House squeezed behind her in the narrow space, and Cuddy gasped. The feel of him pressed against her brought an instant flash of recall: his arms around her, his lips on her neck, his hand between her legs. She thought she could feel his growing erection and her hips pressed back against his groin of their own volition.

House growled deep in his throat.

Cuddy looked at him over her shoulder.

"That was quick," she teased.

"There's knowing and admitting," he said. "And there's experience."

"I like experience."

"I know you do," he grinned lecherously.

She wanted to touch him. She wanted to give him the thrill he'd given her just a few days ago. She wanted…

"You'd better step over there," he said. "Docking can be tricking."

"You're talking about the boat, right?"

He chuckled.

Cuddy couldn't take her eyes off him as he shifted gears and went through the process of backing the boat into the slip. When he'd finished tying the boat, she picked up her shoes and jumped onto the dock as he finished securing it.

She knew she should leave. She shouldn't wait for him. The air between them had shifted and things were heating up whether she wanted to admit it or not.

But why deny it?

"I'm glad I followed you," she said, as they walked to the parking lot.

House nodded, but didn't look at her. He was staring down wooden slats of the dock, as if it were a path that needed navigating.

"Did it help?" she asked.

He frowned for a brief second before responding: "You mean do I still need a fix?"

Now she was the one nodding. They were suddenly awkward together, like teenagers wondering how to end a first date.

But this wasn't a date.

"No," he said. "I'm not thinking about drugs at all."

It could be a date, she thought. This is what it would be like to date House. Surprising. Adventurous. Challenging. Frustrating. Exhilarating. Confusing.

Cuddy turned when they reached his motorcycle. It was dark. The streetlight above was out so the only illumination came from the security lights off the dock and a streetlight further down the lot.

They were alone.

"I can walk you to your car," he said. It was only a few spaces down, not across the lot.

_He's nervous._

What was he thinking?

House couldn't look at her. He didn't want her to leave. He didn't want things to go back to the way they were, distant and uncertain.

He felt something brush his thigh and stepped back reflexively. She stepped toward him, backing him against his bike as she cupped his crotch. He gasped.

"Dangerous," he warned.

She nuzzled his chest at the opening of his shirt.

"Good," she breathed against him.

Her hand was stroking him. And he was hard. Oh, was he hard. Painfully hard.

And she was fast.

"You can't," he hissed when he felt her release his zipper.

Cuddy felt her own surge of excitement when she held his cock in her hand.

_Oh, wow._

He reached for her, but she shook her head, stepping forward and pushing him off balance. "It's your turn," she said.

He caught himself on the motorcycle and gasped as she gripped him. Her thumb ran along the tip of his prick before sliding to the base and back again.

His hands gripped her waist, holding himself steady and her close.

"I'm not going to last," he croaked. It felt so good.

She let out a throaty chuckle and stepped between his legs so she could kiss his neck.

Her touch was magical. He couldn't remember the last time anything had felt so good. Had anything ever felt this good?

She could tell he was fighting it, trying to hold out and sustain the moment. She didn't want him to have that kind of control. She wanted him to lose it, to fall apart and explode from the pleasure she gave him.

Cuddy bit his earlobe. House shuddered.

"I've been thinking about touching you," she said close to his ear. "About how good you'd feel."

The length of him seemed to pound in her palm, the rhythm matching her strokes.

"Cuddy."

She kissed his temple and increased the rhythm and intensity of her hand.

"I think about tasting you, too."

She'd barely whispered it when he exploded in her hand.

"Ohhhh," House groaned and his body shuddered as the waves of sheer ecstasy raced through him.

Cuddy kept stroking him. Her touch light, but steady; her hands were slick from his release. House jerked, too sensitive to withstand any more. She stepped back, to look at him. He was magnificent.

She wanted more. She wanted to leave him with something that would drive him mad with want, keep him wanting her in spite of their complicated relationship.

_There was that word again. Relationship._

She stood in front of him and waited for his breathing to calm, for him to return from that euphoric state. When she was sure his vision had cleared and he was totally focused on her, she brought her hand to her mouth.

His eyes grew wide and his lips parted as he watched her slide her tongue along her index finger, tasting him on her hand. He was mesmerized, completely blown away by her eroticism and how comfortable she was with her own sexuality.

As she slowly licked her fingers, one…after…the…other… House stopped breathing. He thought he would hyperventilate, until he felt a familiar pressure in his balls that left him drawing in a surprised breath.

_No way._

Cuddy looked down at what should have been a flaccid penis. It wasn't flaccid. Granted, it wasn't the massive erection she'd released from the confines of his jeans a few minutes ago, but there was definitely an impressive recovery in the works.

"Wow," she grinned.

House couldn't move. She had him totally tied upside.

She reached out and ran her fingers along the line of his beard at his cheek, stopping at his jaw so her thumb could trace the pulp of his lower lip.

He felt totally depleted and completely aroused at the same time.

Cuddy kissed him lightly on the lips.

"This was fun," she said and turned to leave.

_Wait. What?_

House jolted. "You're leaving?"

"Uh, huh," she said, not looking back. "It's late."

"But...I…we…what about you?" he stammered.

She pressed the unlock button on the remote before turning, walking backwards toward her car as she looked at him. He was standing up straight now, flushed and ruffled, his eyes wide with shock and wonder, his fly fully opened and his cock fully exposed. He looked strangely adorable.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

"You can't just leave," he argued.

She released a throaty laugh.

"You're going to be extremely frustrated in the morning," he pointed out.

"I'll take care of that tonight," she said, giving him a sultry wink.

House gulped when she turned away. He was already imagining how she would take care of herself. Her fingers sliding over her clit. The fingers that had just stroked him. The fingers she'd just licked.

House groaned.

"You are an evil woman," he called.

She looked back at him as she stepped into the car.

His hand was holding his cock like a little boy who'd just discovered his penis had a life of its own.

Cuddy laughed and waved goodbye.

It was going to be a long night. For both of them.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you to all the readers who have commented, and my friends who gave me feedback. I'm very, very grateful. Hope you continue to enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own House or Cuddy; I just like writing them._

* * *

**The Decision**

The stream of suds slid slowly down the slope of her breast, around and under, creating a winding path as it trailed over her stomach and gathered at the line of hair at the juncture of her thighs. The movement was slow, soft and light, barely a whisper against her skin.

_Like his touch._

Every sensation made her think of it: the rustle of her skirt along her thigh, the tickle of lace at her cleavage, the slide of elastic so near the pulpy lips between her legs. The memory of his surprising yet oh so familiar fingers sliding along her sensitive flesh never failed to leave her more heated than the steam rising in the shower stall. He'd brought her body alive and now it wouldn't be quieted by a touch alone.

She'd known better. From the minute she'd let him touch her in her office bathroom, she'd known it was a line they shouldn't cross. A taste of that kind of pleasure would never be enough. Still she'd allowed it. She'd ignored the warning voice and convinced herself she was still in control; she could handle it.

_Oh, I handled it._

It had been a dangerous game, and she'd started it. She couldn't deny it.

She hadn't planned it at the time. She'd just needed to touch him, to return the favor, to ease the pressure and give him some of the pleasure he'd given her. But she'd pushed it too far. She'd known it as soon as she'd seen his reflection in the rear view mirror as she left him at the marina.

Getting him off had been an impulsive, but still strategic move; the king's pawn to E4, a leeway move, opening up movement for her side. At least theoretically.

It hadn't been enough. She'd wanted to shake him, to make him lose control. She'd needed to leave his head spinning with thoughts of her that would surpass any fantasy he'd ever had.

She still couldn't believe she'd so brazenly licked her fingers. The memory of his eyes following every move of her tongue, his flushed face and neck, his body's response…the knowledge of how completely she'd affected him had kept her awake that night. Planning his next move had kept him awake; she knew it instinctively.

He was all in. From the minute he'd arrived at the hospital the next morning with that Machiavellian grin on his face and suspicious gleam in his eyes, she'd realized her error. By the time he'd stepped into the crowded elevator, positioning himself behind her and covertly sliding his hand along the curve of her ass, she'd realized the playing board had already shifted in his favor. She'd inadvertently changed the rules of the game and his responding move had left her vulnerable.

And so they'd been secretly groping each other all week. Her body hated her for it.

Cuddy poured a bit of shampoo into her palm then began to massage it into her hair and scalp.

It had only been mild, tantalizing teases at first: his arm brushing her breast as he reached for a file, his hand brushing the curve of her ass, or his body lightly pressing into her as if gauging her resistance and sensitivity. Each day the contact had grown more pronounced and intense. He'd pulled open clinic drawers where she stood so his fingers could graze her crotch, and when she'd joined him in the MRI lab to talk about the patient, he'd brushed her nipple while working the display. He'd dropped x-rays, strategically catching them as they hit her chest, and even spilled a bag of chips and feigned embarrassment as he brushed them from lap.

She'd counterattacked, taking every opportunity to rub against him or press her backside into his crotch. It had only incited him more. He'd squeezed into the booth beside her as she lunched with Wilson and slid his hand beneath her skirt, going high on her thigh, and later he'd somehow managed to slip his cane beneath her skirt during Dr. Brantley's lecture on Ebola containment. The curved handle was more teasing than it should have been.

Cuddy had to hand it to him, he was discreet; much more discreet than she'd been. She still couldn't believe she'd pulled him into the janitor's closet. That was so med school. But she'd needed to make a bold move, a play that would confuse the play. It had backfired, of course.

She'd cupped his crotch; he's cupped her breasts. She'd kissed his neck; he'd bit her ear. She'd wrapped her leg around his thigh; he'd lifted her so he could fit perfectly between her legs.

Cuddy sighed as she rinsed the suds from her hair and felt the hot water pound and pulse on her head, shoulders and down her back.

Her body was overstimulated. She could feel when he entered the room, her body attuned to his every move. His heated looks would singe her skin, his breath against her ear and neck would raise the hairs on her arm and send shivers down her spine. Those light touches had the moisture pooling between her legs almost as quickly as the image of his tongue on those damned red lollipops.

_God, I'm so horny._

Cuddy groaned in frustration as she turned off the shower and reached for the towel.

Being this hot for him wasn't so great for her given his sudden shift in mood. He'd almost staggered into the hospital this morning, obviously hung over and clearly experiencing some pain. She'd been stunned when he'd told her he'd woke up in his neighbor's bed…a child's bed.

"_How drunk were you?" Cuddy asked._

"_About yea drunk," he gestured with his fingers._

Geesh. He was lucky his neighbor hadn't called the police and had him thrown in jail. "Are you okay? You shouldn't be drinking at all, much less…"

"You sound just like Esteban's mom."

"I need you in the clinic."

"Sorry, I'm busy."

"_No," she said and grabbed his arm. "I need you in the clinic, now."_

_House watched as she stalked through the clinic._

"_A lecture is not what I need," he'd grumbled, and walked away from her rebelliously._

Cuddy was rougher with the towel than required, using it to scrub her sensitive skin rather than dry it. She was too frustrated to appropriately worry about him. She could see he was in crisis, but she didn't understand why. She couldn't think about it either. She couldn't find the brain cells to analyze what may have triggered his sudden shift from frisky to misery, and that was almost as frustrating as her body's betrayal. Almost.

Tying the towel tightly around her, she flung the shower curtain to the side and stepped out of the stall.

"I hope that groaning was for me."

Of course he was here.

He was sitting on the bench across from her, leaning his wet head against the tiled wall, wearing only a towel around his waist.

_Fuck._

"What are you doing here?" she asked, testily.

"Waiting for you."

"In the women's locker room? Have you lost your mind?"

His gaze traveled slowly down her body.

"I was using the hot tub," he said. Not surprising. Wilson had told her House had been using his bathtub because his leg seemed to be bothering him more. He seemed to think it was tied to his relationship with Sam; Cuddy thought there was more to it. "I saw you working out."

"So you thought you you'd follow me in here?" she said. "Anyone could see you."

"There's a hazard sign in the hall, and the door is locked," he dismissed her concerns.

"Which just means the night engineer will wonder what's wrong and use his KEY to check it out."

House shook his head. "No," he said, standing and taking a step toward her. "He's taking care of the water leak in the cafeteria."

"There's a water leak in the cafeteria?"

"It's just a loose pipe," he assured her. "Easy fix."

Cuddy glared at him.

"You didn't."

As usual, he ignored her agitation.

"We need to talk."

He was standing too close.

He smelled of tangy body wash and man musk. It was leaving her lightheaded.

His eyes were a darker shade of blue, hungry and searching with a hint of fear and discontent. She ignored the later, her body instantly harmonizing with the lust he couldn't hide.

Her hand slipped through the seam of the towel, taking advantage of his lack of boundaries and finding his cock.

"You want to talk?" she gave him a sexy grin as she stroked him.

House swallowed hard, trying to maintain his focus when all the blood was racing from one head to another.

"I need to know what this is," he said.

Cuddy ran her thumb along the tip as she gripped his shank more firmly.

"A hand job," she teased, kissing his chest just above the small dusting of hair at the center.

He gripped her wrist, pulling her hand away from him.

"I'm serious," he said firmly.

It was taking everything he had to stop her. He wanted her so much. It was taking him over. He could hardly think about anything else. He felt like everything he wanted was right there within his grasp, but he was afraid. What if this was just a game? What if this wasn't what she wanted? After all, nothing had actually changed, he hadn't changed. He was still a terrible choice for someone with a kid.

Cuddy stared at him, wide-eyed and a bit frantic. He could see there was a battle between her body and mind that was quickly turning into a full-fledged war. He knew the feeling. They'd lost control of the play and now teetered dangerously on the edge of a cliff.

She jerked away from him, beyond frustrated.

"Why do you do this?" she said. "Why do you have to analyze everything?"

She turned away from him and bent to pull her gym bag out from under the bench.

"You're grabbing my dick every chance you get," he pointed out. "I don't think the question is unreasonable."

"Like you're not participating in this groping fest," she bit back, pulling a set of scrubs from the bag.

"I'm not the one who didn't want a relationship."

"This isn't a relationship," she said, turning her back to him.

She didn't see him flinch; she didn't see the shadow descending on his face or the storm clouds brewing in his eyes.

"Why do we have to label it anyway?" she said, dropping the towel and pulling the scrub top over her head, not even bothering with a bra. "That's never worked out well for us in the past."

Every time they'd tried to "talk" in the past it had totally stopped any positive momentum and sent them in a downward spiral. The chasm between them grew wider each time.

Cuddy turned angry eyes on him, holding the scrub bottoms at her waist. "Why can't we just have fun," she asked. "Why do you have to define it, or diagnose it, or whatever it is you're doing?"

House felt like she'd slapped him.

_Why can't we just have fun?_

He wasn't having fun. He was falling into a dark hole! He couldn't breathe. He was losing more and more ground every day. Couldn't she see that?

"You get to cop a feel and get off every now and then without having to pay for it," she said as she shook the pants out of the fold. "Why can't you just enjoy it?"

Why, indeed? He thought.

House caught her off balance when she went to step into the pants. He jerked them out of her hands and tossed them to the side as quickly as he lifted her off the ground and took one of her nipples into his mouth.

Cuddy gasped, gripping his shoulders for support and trembling at the feel of his hot mouth sucking her, his beard scrapping the tender skin of her areola.

"House," she cried out.

His grip was strong, his movements fierce and determined. This wasn't the tease of the past few days; this was raw and rough. This was passion.

_So good._

He spun them around. She felt like she was falling. He caught her, bracing a hand against the wall as he dropped to his knees and guided her feet back to the ground. He was nipping and kissing and biting down her stomach, nuzzling the thin patch of hair at the juncture of her thighs as he lifted one of her legs to slip beneath her. Her leg draped over his should and down his back.

_If this should somehow lead to oral sex, so be it._

She'd thought of little else since he'd said it. And now his mouth was on her.

His tongue slid along her folds, lapping at the lips before dipping into her heat. His hands gripped her butt cheeks as he pulled her closer so he could suck her clit firmly into his mouth.

Cuddy thought she would hyperventilate. She was gasping for air, the pressure building in her with such speed and intensity she couldn't think, couldn't react, couldn't do anything but writhe against him and reach for the release only he could give.

She cried out when she felt that final push from deep within, and lost all sense of awareness when he hummed against her swollen flesh, lapping up her release like a thirsty man too long in the desert.

Cuddy laughed. It was almost hysterical. She felt out-of-control and self-conscious, yet strangely relieved and joyful. He spun her around to sit on the edge of the bench.

House didn't give her a chance to recover before lifting her other leg onto his shoulder, spreading her wide as he nestled his head between thighs once again.

"I can't," she mumbled. She was so sensitive, so weak and depleted, she couldn't take…

His mouth sucked on her clit as a finger circled the now dripping wet entrance to her core.

"House!" She grabbed his head, pulling on his hair in desperation, uncertain if she was pulling him close or pushing him away.

His finger dipped deep, his lips tugged hard. She thought she would scream. When she felt another finger at her anus, the muscles in her thighs grew taut automatically gripping his head in a scissor hold.

House was unfazed.

_He's not…_

There was a brief moment of conscious resistance, but his finger was wet from her release and easily slipped into the tight…

"Oh," she gasped as her eyes rolled back in her head at the overwhelming sensation. Every nerve ending at her clit was alive, sparking and firing shots of pleasure through her. Her walls tightened around his fingers, sucking him in as the muscles in back pushed his other finger out. It was all too much. Too much sensation, too much pressure, too much pleasure, too much…

Cuddy tried not to scream. Someone would hear. Someone could catch them. Someone…

"Oh God!"

Cuddy screamed.

House held still, feeling her pulsing and pounding and gripping his fingers and hand. When he felt the waves of her orgasm subsiding, he licked her clit one last time, causing her to gasp and jerk in a pleasure-pain that had her laughing again.

He looked up at her.

His knees were hurting. His leg felt like a knife had been pushed into his already mangled thigh. His balls were so tight and his dick so hard, he was sure a blood vessel would burst any second.

But he was also pissed. Or hurt. Or maybe just confused. He felt betrayed somehow. Used.

He couldn't explain it. He barely understood it.

She was so beautiful spread open before him, flushed and weak, completely satisfied and lost in a euphoria he desperately needed. She was his world. He couldn't deny it any more than he could admit it.

This was just sex for her.

House kissed her thigh and ran his hand along her folds one last time before awkwardly standing.

Cuddy smiled up at him lazily as he tied the towel around his waist. Why hadn't she noticed it had dropped? Why hadn't he left it where it dropped? It was barely able to hide the erection so proudly peeking through the seam.

He was so beautiful. He was by far the sexiest man she'd ever seen. Did he know that? Did he even realize how breathtaking he could be?

She watched him take the few steps to retrieve the cane he'd leaned against the tile, and quickly sat up when she realized he was heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Home," he said, unlocking the door and swinging it open.

"What?" Her legs were too weak to stand. "Why?" she called out to him.

He didn't respond. She wasn't sure he'd even heard her. The pendulum had reversed its swing, and he'd disappeared behind a dark shroud as quickly as he'd brought her to orgasm.

She didn't know what to think; she didn't understand his mood. And in her present condition, she didn't have the capacity to figure it out.

H H H

He had a headache.

Sorting through the confusing data of the past few days – hell, the past few years – was frying his brain.

"_You'd be surprised how many things Wilson doesn't tell you," she said._

"Would I?" House chuckled. "Like, how you slept with your father's best friend or..."

"I'm gonna kill him," Cuddy said, but she'd gone pale, her eyes hollow.

_House frowned as she suddenly looked around her desk nervously before almost jumping out of her chair and rushing toward the door. _

"_I have to go," she mumbled._

"_Cuddy," he tried to stop her. But she was already gone._

He hadn't expected that reaction. Thinking about it now, he still was surprised he'd found her in tears. That hadn't been the button he'd been trying to push.

_Cuddy averted her eyes and quickly wiped her tears as House slid in next to her on the picnic bench._

"_Here," he said, handing her one of his red lollipops. "Candy helps."_

"_A handkerchief would probably work better," she quipped, but her voice lacked the lightness to pull off the humor. She looked out into the distance with sad eyes._

_House sat quietly beside her._

"_You hit a nerve," she finally said._

_He started bouncing his cane on the ground. _

"_I think I figured that out," he said, then propped his chin on the curve of his cane. "Sorry."_

"_It's not your fault," she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. _

_House waited._

"_I was in med school," she explained. "They were supposed to be driving through town on the way to a conference, but dad had an emergency at the hospital so Bill went without him. He promised my parents he'd stop in and check on me."_

_She looked over at him._

"_There was a party going on when he got there."_

"_You were drunk?" he asked._

"_Not yet," she said. "I was working on it."_

"_Middle-aged man; hot young girl," House said. "Not so surprising he'd take advantage."_

"_I seduced him," she said. His eyes widened; she shrugged. "He'd been eyeing me since I graduated from high school."_

_House grinned. _

"_I imagine he wasn't the only man doing that."_

_Cuddy dropped her face into her cupped hands as she recalled that night. _

"_I'd been a wreck and I guess I needed the ego boost," her hands were muffling her voice. "So when he showed up looking like the classic, debonair older man and was so obviously infatuated, I just…"_

"_Why were you a wreck?" he frowned._

_She dropped her hands, but looked away from him. _

"_I was just going through a hard time," she said. "It doesn't matter. It was just one night and quickly forgotten."_

"_Not by him."_

"_Not by him," Cuddy sighed in agreement. "I found ways to get out of seeing him, and managed to avoid family holidays for years. Until I was hired here as Dean of Medicine."_

_He waited for her to explain the connection._

"_Dad planned a vacation to Costa Rico since it would be a long time before I'd get a real vacation again and the promotion deserved a celebration," she said. "He didn't tell me Bill would be joining us."_

"_And Bill had grown into a dirty old man."_

"_Not dirty," she said. "But determined. I wasn't the kid I had been. I wasn't desperate anymore, and I didn't need the reassurance that I was worthy of such attention or that I still had it. But he didn't want to take no for an answer. We argued. Dad overheard…it all spiraled out of control."_

_House frowned, sorting through the information in his mind._

"_It was just another thing for mom to use against me," she said. "And dad…"_

"_When was this?" House interrupted._

"_I told you, when I got the position…"_

"_I mean when you slept with him."_

"_Med school."_

"_You weren't desperate in med school," he said. "You were a force to be reckoned with from the moment you set foot on campus."_

"_I was going through a rough patch," Cuddy sighed. "Mom didn't help any. She…"_

_His eyes widened and glazed over as he had an epiphany._

"_It was when I left," he said, even though he hoped it wasn't true. _

_He could tell by the clouds in her eyes, he was right._

"Got something for you."

House was startled from his thoughts as Thirteen walked in and tossed an envelope on his desk.

"What's this?"

"The money Wilson paid us to go out with you," she said. "Figured you could use it to get him back."

He stared blankly as the rest of the team came into the office behind her.

"It was fun," she shrugged. "He didn't have to pay us."

"I wouldn't go that far," Taub muttered.

"That stack of bills will buy us quite a few pitchers," Chase pointed out. "Or shots."

House grinned. "You were playing him."

"Wouldn't you?"

"Now we can all get bracelets for What-would-House-do," Taub said. "Can we talk about the patient now?"

"No," House said. "Let's talk about you becoming the poorest doctor in this hospital once your wife nails you for alimony."

"Rachel's not leaving me," he said through gritted teeth.

"She will."

Taub glared at his fellow team mates when they all responded at the same time.

"The patient is lactating," he said, handing him a vile of liquid to get the focus off him.

"The guy's pregnant? Cool!" House poured some of the sample milk from the vile into his mug. The team stared at him appalled.

"First he's gay, and now he's pregnant," he said. "How will he ever tell his fiancé?"

Chase laughed. "His therapist loaded him with hormones."

House listened as they discussed possible diagnosis and argued symptoms. He feigned to sip his coffee, but kept pausing just before it touched his lips. They were so easy to jerk around.

"Prolactinomas can be benign," Taub said, his nose clearly turned up as House brought the mug to his mouth, yet again.

"Check his prolactin level, then MRI his pituitary," House said.

They didn't move, obviously waiting for him to take a swallow.

"Go!" he gestured them away.

Thirteen remained.

"You going to drink that?" she asked.

House quirked a brow and watched as she took the mug from him. She took a sip and stared at him.

"You are a freak," he said, but was clearly amused.

"I have nothing to lose," she said. "Unlike Taub…and you."

"You're comparing me to Taub? This should be good."

"He's an idiot," she said. "Trying to have his cake and eat it too. But you! You push others to have the cake, but you're afraid to try it yourself."

"I'm on a diet."

"You're more than willing to lick the icing."

House had a sudden flash of memory: Cuddy spread out before him in the locker room. Had it only been three days?

"The icing is the best part, you know."

"You don't believe that," she said. "You're not just monogamous. You're a closet romantic. You jerk Taub and Wilson and everyone else in a relationship around because you need them to make it work. You need them to prove faithfulness matters because if it doesn't, you can't take that leap. You're an all or nothing kind of guy. Half-way isn't even a choice for you."

"You need to test that cream for hallucinogens," he said. "You clearly are having a reaction."

Thirteen chuckled.

"For a man of truth, you sure like to lie to yourself."

His frown turned to a scowl as she left his office.

H H H

The headache was worse.

House popped three Ibuprofen into his mouth and washed them down with the whiskey he'd poured.

It was bad enough he was putting up with Taub (by far his most annoying team member) and enduring his best friend's insulting attempts to find him friends, but now Thirteen was hitting a little too close to home. She had been since they'd gone out to that lesbian bar.

_My self-pity's optional. What about yours?_

It had been a reasonable question in light of their conversation. One that kept coming back to him.

He didn't like to admit it, but at the moment his pity was optional. He'd made the choice to accept less than what he wanted, what he needed, and he was paying the price.

Then again, it wasn't even self-pity any more. It had gone beyond that. He was angry and bitter; restless and impatient, finally seeing the futility of trying to find "happiness." He wasn't even sure happiness was real.

_Why can't you just enjoy it?_

That was the question of the hour.

Any straight, healthy, red-blooded American man would enjoy this deal with Cuddy: get your rocks off with the hottest woman you know without any expectation of emotional commitment. It was like a dream.

It felt like a nightmare.

_This isn't a relationship._

Her words still stung.

Maybe she was right. They didn't have a relationship. They never would. He'd never given her anything but heartache, anyway. He was only just beginning to understand that pattern had started back in med school.

"_I thought we had something special that night," she said, her voice distant and without emotion. "I'd never connected with anyone the way I did with you. But then you disappeared…everything changed."_

But he'd felt it too: the connection.

"_I was expelled," he said, trying again to explain what had happened, why he hadn't called. "I didn't think…"_

"_It doesn't matter," she interrupted. "It was years ago. We're different people now."_

House took another sip of whiskey from his mug, remembering the look on her face, the way she closed out the memory, closed him out.

He'd hurt her. The circumstances didn't matter. He'd handled it all wrong. He'd been self-absorbed, selfish and afraid, convinced she'd reject him because he wasn't good enough for her.

As different as they were now, some things were still the same.

"I hired a replacement," her voice interrupted his thoughts.

"For my P.A.," she clarified as she stepped through the door.

She'd told him earlier in the week she was looking to hire a new assistant. That was before he'd tasted her. Before Wilson had started his hire-a-friend campaign. Before he'd come to an important realization.

"She seems great," Cuddy continued.

"Good work."

"You too," she said. "Your patient's going home tomorrow."

"He doesn't have a home," he pointed out.

That's what happens when you deny who you are and try to build a fantasy life. You lose all sense of home. You're unable to commit to the life you're building and unwilling to be content with the truth.

_You're an all or nothing kind of guy.  
_  
"You want to grab a bite to eat?"

House sighed. "So Wilson got to you too?"

_Damn. Did Wilson really think he was so pathetic? Why did he have to involve her?_

Cuddy frowned.

"No. This is just me," she smiled uncomfortably. When he didn't respond immediately, she added: "I'm buying."

"I'm not that hungry."

Cuddy was taken aback by his dismissal. Granted, they hadn't really spoken since they'd been so intimate three days ago, but what had happened was very real and very powerful. She'd been unable to think of anything else as she anxiously awaited his next move, their next encounter.

It hadn't come.

"Okay," she said, awkwardly.

He was shutting her out. She'd thought it was just a mood when he'd left her in the locker room, but now it was quite clear.

She knew he'd been busy with his team. Wilson had told her his plan to help House find a social life since he was spending more time with Sam. He still didn't know House had been spending time with her, or at least playing with her. Wilson didn't know they were growing so close because House didn't tell him. He'd kept it a secret; he'd been very discreet, very protective of what they shared.

_I need to know what this is._

What did they share? She was afraid to think about it too much, afraid to give it any more power over her. She'd already lost enough control; she was already so weak.

"Talk to me," she pleaded. "Tell me what's going on with you."

He didn't respond. He watched her fidget with her hands as she nervously waited.

She stepped further into his office.

"Don't shut me out," she said. He was her best friend. She depended on him, she needed him, she wanted him.

House closed his eyes.

Shut her out, he thought. What a joke!

She was the one who'd shut him out. He'd been working for months to be the kind of man she needed, the kind of man she could love. But he was no better than her father's friend. He served his purpose, but her heart was closed.

"I thought sobriety would have more rewards," he finally said, shaking his head in disappointment.

"House," she sighed, immediately ready to comfort him. "You haven't lost Wilson, you know. Just because he's dating Sam doesn't mean he's abandoned you."

"I know," he said, looking down at the amber liquid in his mug. "He's moving on…we all are."

Cuddy felt a still, quiet shudder run through her, and a sense of foreboding that had her on edge now.

"That doesn't mean we won't still be together."

"No," he said. "It will just be different."

Cuddy stared at him. The words seemed calm and accepting, but there was something in the air, something in his tone, something in the melancholic shroud over his eyes.

"House," she whispered. "We'll get through this. We're friends."

_Friends._

He hated that word. That's when it all started. That was when he'd sold his soul.

House gave her an empty look.

"I can't do this anymore," he quietly said. "I tried, but I can't. I won't."

"I don't understand." Cuddy felt a wave of panic wash through her.

"That's the last thing I want us to be," he said. "Friends."

Cuddy gasped. She felt something crack inside her.

He remained very still as he stared at her with a resolve she'd never seen.


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you to my readers, especially those who have taken the time to share their thoughts and hearts. I appreciate you so much. I would have stopped writing these stories long ago without the input.  
_

_This is dedicated to Megabby who requested the story and provided some of the guidelines/restrictions that would challenge me. I hope I didn't let you down._

_As you may have figured out, part of the plan was to use the shell of the episodes (along with the instructions to delay Huddy the writers faced in S6), but to do it without Lucas and the insulting plots. I have tried to fulfill this request. I hope I succeeded at least a bit. _

_Please enjoy this take on Help Me._

_Disclaimer: House is not mine._

* * *

**Phoenix**

He'd given her the book. Her great-grandfather's book: Approach to the Acute Abdomen.

It wasn't a book you'd find in just any book store. It was the original printing, a collector's item; it would have taken a search and certainly a pretty penny to obtain.

_Like her desk._

House was a man of grand gestures, of actions.

"_That's the last thing I want us to be: friends."_

He wasn't so bad at the well timed word, either. Her heart still ached as she remembered his declaration.

Everyone was so quiet. The sounds of rescue and excavation seemed far away as they waited for the inevitable cries and screams. Cuddy stood at the edge of the debris tormented by her thoughts.

"_I've got this."_

He'd taken action, taken charge of the process, insisting on doing the amputation and seeing it through to the end.

She couldn't stop thinking about the look in his eyes, so somber and pensive. He was lost in the past, in his own experience and the tragic results, while trapped in a present with potentially more devastating results for this young woman with whom he'd found a connection. She'd felt the tears roll down her cheek as he shared his story with Hannah. So vulnerable. So pained. So full of regrets.

He wasn't the only one.

He'd clearly made a choice. He'd brought her body alive, made her want what she couldn't have, what wasn't good for her daughter, and now he was walking away. She'd gotten the message: If she didn't want a relationship with him, he wasn't going to be her booty call.

Cuddy had been trying to come to terms with her feelings ever since.

While he'd buried himself in the case of an amnesia patient. She didn't know why he'd been so fascinated, why he'd taken such a personal interest, but he'd been totally absorbed in the case. He hadn't noticed how conflicted she'd been. He hadn't noticed how she'd subtly reached out to him, silently pleading with him to understand, to say what she needed to hear. He hadn't noticed how alone she'd felt, how abandoned. He hadn't seen her.

That hurt more than anything.

But then this morning he'd given her the book. Why? What did it mean?

He'd obviously been expecting something when he gave it to her. Their conversation earlier in the day had made that clear.

"_What did I do wrong?" _

_Her eyes widened, but she didn't look at him. When had he ever asked that? _

"_I don't know what you mean," she said, continuing to bandage the patient's leg._

"_Why the awkwardness?" he asked. "It was just a book."_

_It wasn't just a book. He knew that. She knew that._

"_There's no awkwardness," she said. "I'm just trying to help as many people as I can."_

"_And yet you can't look at me."_

_She gestured to the paramedic that the patient was ready to be taken from the triage and to the transport area._

"_We don't have time for this," she said. "There are too many people injured and we…"_

"_And acting weird is helping me focus on them."_

_Cuddy turned to glare at him. _

"_Can't you ever think about someone besides yourself?" she was exasperated. "It was a great gift. I loved it. Now can we move on? These people could die while you're worrying about your ego being stroked!"_

She'd seen it happen, helplessly watched as some invisible fortress cracked and crumbled. It was reflected in his eyes; she just couldn't tell if the reflection was something inside him or inside her.

He'd searched her eyes in that damnable way that left her feeling emotionally naked and exposed. She knew he could see her fears, her uncertainty, her guilt. She'd felt irritable and defensive. She'd felt a sudden sense of panic.

So she'd run.

She'd taken charge of triage, organizing the area, making assignments, treating patients. She'd been quickly buried in procedure.

He'd been buried in the rubble.

Everything had shifted when she'd heard of the secondary collapse in the hole where House had been dealing with Hannah.

She'd thought the worst. She'd thought…

Cuddy felt the trickle of a tear on her jaw and reflexively wiped it with her hand.

He was alive. He was okay. She tried to calm her nerves.

She looked down at the moisture glistening on her finger.

Hannah's screams rang out from beneath the rubble.

Cuddy recoiled.

_I'm the only one here who knows what a leg is worth._

The memory was so clear. She could see him saying it. See him so passionately and doggedly fighting for more time for Hannah.

He'd been rubbing his leg when he'd said it. Why hadn't she noticed then? Why hadn't she seen the situation with the girl was hitting too close to home, affecting him on such a fundamental level?

"_I know you're angry," she'd said. "But please don't put her life at risk just to get back at me."_

"_Really?" he'd stood to face her, using his size to tower over her and intimidate. As if she would cower! _

"_Wow. So this is all about you now."_

It hadn't been an act of rebellion. It hadn't been about her at all.

Cuddy grimaced as the screams continued to echo into the night.

"_Things didn't turn out as you expected so you're going to punish an innocent girl for it." _

She'd hit below the belt, striking in an area she knew would catch him off balance. It's how they fought. It was how they got to the truth and found answers. It was their way.

Wasn't it?

"_Yeah," he'd sneered. "That must be it. It's not that you're a pathetic narcissist."_

_She'd felt the blow._

"_Things don't always work out the way we imagine," she'd said. "Accept it and move on with your life instead of making everyone miserable."_

"That's great," his voice was rising. "A life lesson from a middle-age single mom who's too afraid of her own mind to know what she wants, much less how to fight for it."

"_I'm not the one buried in the past," she bit back. "Letting bitterness and anger destroy…"_

"_No, you're trapped in the present," he interrupted. "In a pathetic schoolgirl fantasy where everything is perfect and you're in control, when you're really…"  
_  
_"Screw you," she'd had enough. "I'm done! I'm not making excuses for you anymore. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you. I'm sick of everyone tiptoeing around because you might break or act out or throw some tantrum that could kill someone. You make their lives worse while they try to keep you from collapsing."_

Why was it so much easier for them to be cruel than honest?

The screams had subsided, replaced by soft, distant cries and the roar of rescue.

"_Fantastic," he'd said as she walked away. "Just because you wear this mask of perfection doesn't make it true. You're more broken than anyone. "_

_She'd felt herself bristling, but refused to respond._

"_Just stay away from my patient," he'd demanded. "Your need to prove yourself doesn't override her rights! She has a right to make decision about her own body! She has a right to keep her leg!"_

She'd spun on him.

"_This isn't about you, House!" she'd quickly retraced her steps. They'd stood face-to-face, totally immersed in the battle._

"_This is HER LIFE! She can't stay pinned under there any longer. You know that. You're gonna risk her LIFE just to save her LEG?" she'd been indignant more than incredulous. "That really worked out well for you, didn't it?"_

_He'd blanched. She was unfazed._

"_What do you have in your life, honestly? Tell me."_

_He'd swallowed hard. Speechless._

"_You've just got to be right. You've got to prove you're right," she'd said. "You've got to make sure everyone knows that you're right, that you're the master or the Buraku or whatever story you're telling yourself. To hell with reality. To hell with anyone's feelings. Or their desires. Or their needs. She trusts you, and YOU ARE KILLING HER!" _

_He'd stood there, silent and frozen. _

_Damn him! _

"_I'm going down there, and I'm gonna convince her to let me cut her leg off," Cuddy said. "If you have any decency left, you'll stay out of it._

Now, two of the paramedics disappeared into the hole, dragging down medical bags and a transport gurney. It was done. The amputation was complete.

House had done it.

"_Hannah," she'd heard him whisper. "We have to amputate your leg."_

_She'd been surprised. No, she'd been shocked by his words._

"No. You said... that there was time."

_The girl was frantic._

"_There was," he gently said. "Now, it's run out."_

_It wasn't that he was being sensible that had her reeling; it was the kindness in his voice, the understanding and empathy he so openly shared with her._

"No." Hannah had shaken her head, determined and resistant.

"_You asked me how I'd hurt my leg. I had a blood clot, and the muscle was dying. And I had all these doctors telling me I should amputate, and I said no, and they did this... very risky operation. I almost died."_

_Hannah shivered. Cuddy wondered if it was from his words or from the shock that had overtaken her body._

"But you saved your leg."

"_I wish I hadn't."_

That was when she'd first felt the moisture on her cheek, tears from a reservoir of pain beneath a cavern of secret despair.

"_They cut out a chunk of muscle about the size of my fist, and they left me with this, mutilated, useless thing," he said. He didn't close his eyes as he thought about it. The standard reflex of misery and addiction could not be seen. His blue eyes were mournful and desolate as he looked at her._

"_I'm in pain," he admitted, his voice raw and bereaved. "Every day. It never goes away."_

_Cuddy held her breath, fighting back her own emotions, her own pain._

"_It changed me," he said. "It made me a harder person, a worse person. And now... Now I'm alone. I'll always be alone."_

_Cuddy whimpered._

"_You don't want to be like me," he assured her. "You've got a husband who loves you. You have friends. You can start a family. You have a life. You have everything. This... This is just a leg."_

He'd been solely concentrated on Hannah, but she'd been unable to take her eyes off him.

As Cuddy stood along the edge of the rubble and watched as they pulled Hannah from beneath the surface, she realized how futile this past year had been. They could have everything. They could have a life…together.

She'd been fighting for a life she didn't even want, a life that didn't matter. She'd been so determined to stay in the safety of her miserable, but familiar solitude. Why? They didn't have to go through it all alone. It was harder alone; it didn't have to be.

How did going it alone help Rachel? How did living in fear help her? She'd been so afraid of the unknown and the uncertainty. She'd been afraid of the risks and what-ifs. What kind of example was that? What kind of lesson was she teaching her daughter?

Cuddy saw House crawl from the opening in the debris and rise from the rubble.

He was a phoenix.

She stood mesmerized as he put on his jacket and staggered over to where they were prepping Hannah for the ambulance ride. He didn't look at her. His eyes hadn't sought her out like they always did.

She felt the loss.

Cuddy came to stand next to House as Hannah's husband rushed to her side.

"Baby," Hannah said. "I'm so sorry."

"Shut up."

"You always loved my legs."

"I don't care about your legs. Baby, I love you," he leaned in to kiss her. "I love you."

Cuddy looked at House.

It was all so clear.

He looked at her then. At last.

But there was nothing there.

She stood motionless, barely breathing as she watched him help load Hannah into the ambulance and step in behind her and her husband.

When he turned and reached for the doors, their eyes locked.

As he closed the doors, she knew: she'd lost him.

H H H

House sat in the floor of his bathroom staring at the pills in his hand.

Hannah was dead.

He was re-living it over and over, but she was dead.

_She trusts you, and you are killing her!_

Cuddy's voice haunted him.

But he did everything right. He'd done the right thing; she died anyway.

It was pointless.

He'd thought he'd found the answer, after all that time in therapy, all those annoying talks with Nolan, he'd found his answer.

He'd given her the book. He'd fought hard to find that book, first to obtain it in the first place and then again to reclaim it after Alvie pawned it.

It was a sign, a symbol. It was the final gauntlet. No more trying to re-frame the past. The past was written, but the future was in development. There was a chance to make things right.

He'd watched his amnesia patient resist her husband, push him away and build walls against him as he tried over and over again to help her remember, make her feel for him again.

It was the wrong thing to do. It was stupid. She didn't remember him. She didn't even remember who she was! Her view was different and her world even more so. She wasn't sure she wanted to remember. Everything her husband did caused the chasm between them to grow deeper and wider.

It wasn't until he let go and started to see her in the present that things changed. He treated her as if they'd just met, taking tentative steps to get to know her and letting her get to know him…in her way, in her time. He'd started to court her and she'd responded.

He hadn't been so lucky. Cuddy hadn't responded.

_You're the one who set the theme — something about relationships made you go out and provoke a fight._

Nolan's words had hit the bull's eye.

He'd been provoking fights, provoking reactions, provoking…everything. It's what he did. It's what he'd been doing with Cuddy, in a sense: using the physical attraction between them to provoke her to move, to act. He'd been manipulating her physically to get to her emotionally. All it had done was push her away.

So he'd given Cuddy the book; he'd started with a fresh approach. He'd done the right thing, but it had gone wrong.

Everything had gone wrong.

_I'm sick of everyone tiptoeing around because you might break or act out or throw some tantrum that could kill someone. _

She had nothing but contempt for him. And why would she? What had he ever given her but misery? Even in the beginning, when they'd first met. He'd romanticized it, imagining how he'd given her the night of her life, the experience by which all others were measured. Arrogance. One of his deadliest sins.

She'd been hurt and betrayed. Her life had taken a different course, one of caution and mistrust, one that required order and control. And it was his fault.

_If you have any decency left, you'll stay out of it._

He'd started out the day believing there might actually be reason to hope. He was ending it with the truth: hope is an illusion. He would die alone.

House felt the pain shoot up his leg and gripped his thigh.

He hated the pain. He hated the scar. He hated everything that mangled flesh represented. His brokenness. His handicap. It was all anyone could see. It was all he'd let them see.

What you fear most will come upon you, isn't that what they said? Whoever "they" are.

It didn't matter how he hid behind logic and his process…or sarcasm. It didn't matter how brilliant he was or that he saved lives. Nothing mattered. His bitterness and anger had become a spotlight. Nothing he ever did would take center stage beyond the scars he allowed to define him.

House looked down at the pills in his hand.

He was an addict. Just another symptom of the same pain.

He tossed the pills across the room, frustrated and angry.

He didn't need to compound the wrong. But damn, he wanted those pills. His body ached and his leg was pounding. The pressure in his chest was a weight he could hardly bear. He needed the relief those pills could offer. He needed the numbing calm. He needed…

He heard the soft footstep in the darkened hall and looked up in time to see her step into the light.

_Great. _

He released a frustrated sigh and looked away from her.

"You don't have to worry about wrestling the drugs away from me," he said. "I already decided not to take them."

"Good," she said.

She leaned against the door frame and looked down at him.

He was filthy, still covered with dirt and debris. There was blood on his shoes and pants leg. Hannah's blood, no doubt. His hair was mussed; his beard thick and his shoulders slumped. He was exhausted. Defeated.

_He's beautiful._

House stared blankly at the wall in front of him, drifting into the darkness even she couldn't break.

Cuddy stepped into the bathroom and slid onto the floor to sit beside him.

"I heard about Hannah," she finally said.

He didn't respond.

"Both options were a risk."

"Yeah," he said.

"She couldn't stay pinned any longer," she reassured him.

His eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest.

"You did the right thing."

"But she's still dead."

Cuddy closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the injustice…and the pain. It was all so unfair. So unnecessary.

She leaned to the side and rested her head on his shoulder. He was reliving the moment, examining every option, evaluating every decision, every move. And he was feeling the pain. Not just the pain of loss, but the pain of life. His life.

She wanted to be there for him. She wanted him to know he wasn't alone. She wanted him to understand everything would be different.

But Cuddy could feel his tension as the past and present stretched and pulled at him. The demons were gnarling and biting. He fought to quiet them.

They could have sat there for minutes, or hours for that matter; House wasn't sure. He felt her curl into him, her arm wrapping around his, hugging it close as her leg bent and draped over his thigh.

_She felt so good. _

Don't be sucked in, he thought. It was just an illusion.

"Why are you here?"

Her chin moved on his shoulder.

"I needed to be with you," she said.

House felt her pause and watched as she leaned back, frowning as she examined his shirt.

"It's wet," she said, touching the injured place on his shoulder. "We need to check it."

House stared blankly at her as she stood, turned on the water and disappeared down the hall. He could hear her rummaging in the closet. He knew she was getting his medical bag. She was looking for supplies.

She could feel his eyes on her when she returned. She was used to his intense stare as he searched for answers, or the devouring glare of sexual attraction, or the teasing gaze when he was up to something. She wasn't accustomed to the empty, numb eyes that followed her.

She kneeled down at his side and helped him remove his jacket.

"We need to re-bandage your shoulder," she said.

Another injury, she thought. Another pain to an already battered body.

Cuddy bit her lip and tugged at the hem of his shirt, guiding it over his head.

"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "Foreman sent you?"

She understood why he'd think that.

Cuddy reached for the rag in the small pail of water she's prepared and wrung it out.

When she'd finally made it back to the hospital, she'd been frantic to find House, to talk with him, to tell him how she felt. Foreman had told her about Hannah.

"_House was a wreck," he'd said. "I've never seen him like that."_

She'd known then what she would likely find when she got to his apartment. She was undeterred.

"No," she answered honestly, and placed the rag against his cheek. "He didn't send me."

House looked at her as she ran the fabric along his jaw and down his neck.

"You felt sorry for me?"

"No."

She moved to the other side of his face.

"You here to fire me?"

Cuddy paused, blinking sadly and looked him in the eyes.

"No," she whispered.

He shook his head, jarring her hand away from him.

"I'm out of ideas," he said, looking down at his hand as he massaged his thigh. "I have no idea why you're here, but you should go."

Cuddy exhaled and placed her fingers on his chin, urging him to look at her. He frowned, impatient and resistant.

"I love you."

His mouth dropped open and he stared at her, wide eyed and shocked.

"What?"

She smiled gently.

"I love you," she repeated and sat back on her heels. "I had all these reasons why I shouldn't, why I should ignore it. I thought I was protecting Rachel. But…how is teaching her to be afraid a good thing? It's…Life is hard enough without going into it afraid of the best parts."

His eyes were piercing, probing: laser blue intensity that cut a path to her soul. He was weighing her words, looking for the resolve and intent that anchored them. He was searching for truth.

His brow furrowed.

"I'm really screwed up," he said, his voice was raspy and worried.

Cuddy gently moved her fingers along his jaw.

"I know." She was calm and tender, the caution and defense that had surrounded her for months was conspicuously absent. "So am I."

That gave him pause.

Their eyes locked. The air shifted around them and he breathed in deep, filling his lungs as if he'd just surfaced from the dark, turbulent depths of the ocean.

House shifted toward her, stopping short of a kiss.

She could feel his breath. Anticipate the softness of his lips. She leaned forward to meet him, encourage him.

The kiss was barely there, so feather light it could have still been his breath. Except she could taste him. And she could feel the electric current passing between them. It was intoxicating. She gripped his biceps for balance.

House pulled her to him, his chin moving along her cheek and beneath her ear. He nuzzled her neck as he pulled her into an embrace.

"How can I believe you're real?" he whispered.

Cuddy swallowed the heartbreaking emotions his words elicited.

"How can I believe WE are real?"

_We._

It was just a word, and yet it was so much more. It was a choice, a decision. It was the voice of a silent, deliberate action that changed everything.

House pulled back to look at her.

"I was afraid you'd given up," she said. "When you got in the ambulance…I thought you…I was afraid..."

She looked down at her hands now resting on his chest.

Fragile. They were both so fragile.

House sat for a moment digesting this strangely surprising epiphany. This should not be a revelation, and yet…

She looked up at him again, her strength rallying as she took another deep breath.

He pulled her to him. His lips grazed hers again, still light, but lingering this time, sampling and savoring her bouquet. She could feel the fullness of his lower lip, the hint of his hot tongue, the roughness of his beard.

Her hands suddenly stopped their journey along his chest and shoulders.

"You may have popped a stitch," she said, distracted and concerned as she pulled away from him.

There was a fresh staining of blood on the bandage.

House watched her closely as she removed the gauze and examined the wound. He could barely move.

"Come on," she said, standing and beginning to move the supplies toward the toilet. She'd need a better position to re-stitch him. And better light. There was a recessed bulb above the seat.

House pushed on his hands, attempting to get up, but his leg was sore and his body ached from sitting on the hard tile so long.

He closed his eyes against the weakness. He resented it. Hated that she saw him like this. She always saw him like this.

"Here," she whispered.

Her hand was stretched out to him. He looked at her expecting to see pity or the standard determination that always had her caring for him, rescuing him. She had always been his savior.

She smiled at him, her eyes peaceful and…admiring.

House took her hand and she helped him to his feet.

"Sit down," she instructed.

"Bossy." His teasing was almost a reflex response.

He limped to the toilet and sat on the cover.

"I thought you liked me demanding."

He could only look at her, his lips slightly parted as he felt a sense of awe wash through him.

She was here. This was real. She was in his apartment. With him. She'd chosen him. It wasn't a dream.

Or Was it?

House watched as she thoroughly cleaned the wound. Her touch was firm yet gentle, steady and precise. She was in doctor mode, totally focused as she threaded the needle. Her brow furrowed and her eyes squinted as she worked.

"This would be easier to clean in the shower," she teased, referring to the mirror now shattered in the tub.

"I'm high maintenance."

She chuckled deep in her throat.

She could feel his heat, the heightened awareness and the tension building between them.

Cuddy bit her lip as she numbed the area around the cut. She was nervous. The atmosphere between them was charged, and it wasn't just physical.

_I told him. I told him I love him._

Cuddy realized this was what he meant when they'd talked on the boat. Admitting her feelings proved that she knew it, that she accepted it and wanted it.

Now it wasn't just about sex. It never had been, but now there was no denying. Whatever happened between them would be more. It would be emotional, spiritual even.

Cuddy felt a shiver down her spine.

House tentatively touched her waist, needing the connection. She stepped between his legs, understanding. He was nervous too. She could feel it in his touch, see it in the way his throat moved as he swallowed and his lips ticked to the side.

She looked in his eyes searching for reassurance as much as she sought to give it.

House pulled at the hem of her shirt, lifting it above her abdomen.

"I'll need a distraction," he explained.

Cuddy grinned. It was more than that. But she played along, lifting her arms so he could remove the shirt.

"Better?" she said, as she touched his shoulders, preparing to begin the stitching process.

House shook his head, reaching around her to find the snap of her bra.

"Need a pain killer."

Cuddy chuckled, leaning back, away from him, and tossing her bra aside.

House was surprised and thrilled that she was playing along, but he lost his breath when he caught his first glimpse of her.

Cuddy gestured for him to close his legs and she stepped forward again, this time straddling him.

House watched as she carefully settled on his lap, balancing her weight so as not to put pressure on his bad leg. It was natural, not awkward or conscientious. He felt a little humbled by her care and affection.

Cuddy began to nurse his wound. He was riveted by the way her breasts swayed as she moved her hands along the injury; she found herself feeling amused by his fascination. Typical man.

Except he wasn't typical. And he wasn't just a man. He was her man. Just the thought sent heat pooling between her legs.

Cuddy shifted in his lap and felt his response.

She grinned, but didn't look at him.

"You're surprised?" he asked.

She shouldn't be. She thought about him standing in the marina that night, how quickly he'd recovered when she'd licked her fingers. In spite of his age and condition, the man had stamina.

Their eyes met.

The earth stopped turning, or the air got thinner, or something equally staggering. Cuddy wasn't sure. She only knew nothing mattered at that moment but him. Them. Together. This moment.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before the needle dropped from her hand and she stood, the remaining first aid items falling to the floor.

Cuddy took his hand and guided him into the bedroom.

House was nervous. Excited. Afraid. Anxious.

Her hands were at his belt and making quick work of the release.

"You're not…we…Are you sure?" House stammered. Maybe they should take it slow. Maybe they should talk. Maybe…

He wasn't sure how it happened - he'd gotten lost in the haze of anticipation and meaning - but now he was naked. And Cuddy was on her knees.

_Oh, God._

There was something about the posture of submission when she actually possessed such total control that sent him reeling. He was struck by the expression of such unbroken trust. Of love.

Her hands were soft, her touch gentle as her fingers slid up his calves and thighs.

"Cuddy…"

But then she was kissing his scar.

"Don't," he said, shaken and defensive.

She felt his entire body tense as he prepared to pull away. She held him tighter.

"Shhh."

She rained soft kisses along the tattered flesh.

He didn't want her to focus on his scar, on his weakness. He didn't want to come to her in need. Not this time. Not now.

And yet there was something in the way she didn't avoid the evidence of his damage, the symbol of his brokenness. She didn't avert her eyes or ignore it. She gave it the same amount of attention she gave his stomach and his other thigh and his balls and the tip of his prick.

House trembled.

He grabbed her shoulders, urging her to stand. That kind of attention would end this fast, and he didn't want it to end. Ever.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as his lips brushed hers. Once. Twice. Again. He took his time, exploring the contour of her mouth and nipping at the pulp of her bottom lip before tracing it with his tongue.

Even though she felt the urgency of desire, she loved the way he took it slow. He was nothing if not thorough.

It had been so long since they'd kissed. They'd fondled and teased and brought each other to orgasm, but hadn't kissed, really kissed, since he'd gotten out of Mayfield. He was hungry for her, starving for the taste of her, the feel of her, the sounds of her sighs and whimpers as he sucked and nipped and explored her mouth. It was good. So good.

Cuddy was sure she'd never been kissed by anyone the way he kissed her. The volatile passion hovered just beneath the surface, controlled and enhanced by his need to know, to understand, to experience.

Her hands slid up his arms and over his rounded shoulders. She stood on her toes and pulled at his neck as her tongue sought deeper access.

His skin was growing hot and she felt him begin to relax, the horrors of the day clearing from his rigid body. His hands and arms became pliant as they kissed and explored.

House groaned as her nipples came into contact with his chest. He cupped her hips and pulled her into the one area that remained gloriously stiff.

And then he leaned down and scooped her into his arms, taking the few steps to his bed before gently placing her on the sheets.

His eyes were filled with awe as he looked down at her.

Cuddy had never felt so beautiful, so desired.

House untied her shoe and removed it from her foot. He held her calf in one hand as his other hand slowly removed her sock. It was strangely erotic. As he moved the other leg to do the same, Cuddy had a moment of regret that she was still dressed in scrubs. She imagined his fingers at her thigh, removing her stockings, slowly.

But he was removing her pants, and she suddenly didn't care what she was wearing. He'd released the tie at the waist and she automatically lifted her hips as he brought her panties down with the fabric.

Cuddy heard him suck the air in through his lips as he caught sight of the hair at the juncture of her thighs.

House dropped the clothes to the floor as he stood and stared at her. His eyes slowly moved along every inch of her, taking in the details, memorizing and devouring. She could feel his hunger, could sense his passion, but she was overcome by the sheer force of his reverence toward her.

His fingers slid along her leg from ankle to knee, to thigh, to hip. By the time he touched the outside slope of her breast, she thought she'd hyperventilate.

He traced the line of one areola, slowly circling inward until he touched the tip of her nipple. Cuddy bit her lip to hold back the moan.

House did the same to her other breast, so light and teasing, but intensely exploring. He'd touched her before, but this was more. Now he was studying her, learning her.

Cuddy felt him possessing her through anticipation and the nurturing of need. His fingers slid across her abdomen, tracing her belly button before dipping lower. Cuddy gasped when he slid between her folds and touched her clit.

House blinked, suddenly dizzy with desire. She was already wet. So wet. So ready for him.

Cuddy reached for him and he crawled onto the bed, stretching his naked body along hers. He was so big: his shoulders wide, his legs long. He enveloped her, surrounding her in his presence. She curled into his embrace.

House felt his heart skip a beat as flesh met flesh. Her breasts against his chest, her arms around him, her legs bent and open and surrounding him; it was too much.

Their lips met in a voracious kiss, their tongues dancing, dueling, battling for position and demanding more.

His hands were everywhere, sliding up her back and shoulders, caressing her breasts, kneading the curve of her ass.

His arms fully encircled her, gloriously trapping her in his strength and heat. She held on tight, pulling him near, exploring every inch of his body that she could reach and pushing into him, seeking more, demanding more.

She felt his erection pounding strong and powerful between her legs. He braced his hands at her side and pressed her into the mattress, moving his hips and sliding his dick along the wet center of her.

Cuddy groaned.

House pushed into her, slowly sinking into her depth. He could feel her walls adjusting to him, welcoming him, embracing him. He felt a tsunami of unexpected emotion rushing through him and he looked at her, uncertain and a little panicked.

Her eyes were full of unshed tears; the same waves that left him frightened had washed away her fears. She was open and bared beneath him, totally exposed and bravely sealing her soul with his.

House realized he was totally immersed, permanently lost in the love he felt for her.

Cuddy touched his cheek, her thumb gently brushing the tear that had fallen.

He breathed in her fragrance, her touch, the life she shared. He felt a sense of home he'd never known.

Cuddy moved her hips, unable to remain still as her body frantically sought more. More friction. More lust. More Passion. More. More. More.

House was pounding into her now, his hips matching the rhythm of her core. When she felt the tension so tight she thought she would self-destruct, House gripped her hip, pulled her up and adjusted his angle as he pushed once, twice. He thumbed her clit and pushed again, and Cuddy exploded into a cloud of light and color and breathless euphoria.

House hissed and groaned as his body shook and spasmed and disintegrated into the arms that were giving him life.

H H H

"You should sleep," Cuddy whispered as she snuggled closer into his embrace.

They'd been reveling in the aftermath of their lovemaking for quite some time, silently enjoying the feel of long-awaited bliss and the intimacy that surrounded them.

But she was so tired. She knew he must be beyond exhausted.

His fingers were continually sliding up and down her side as he stared at her, studied her in the soft glow of light from the bathroom.

"I'm afraid I'll wake and find this was all a dream."

Cuddy was leveled by his admission. His scars were still raw, his fears so prevalent.

But deep wounds required deep healing. And patience. And love.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, hugging him tightly. "I promise."

It was enough. It was a start.

It was only seconds before Cuddy realized he'd fallen asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you all for your patience, and for reading. I hope you enjoy this final chapter._

_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with House MD. But let's face it, House and Cuddy are a part of us all, right?_

* * *

**It's Right**

The darkness of slumber was fading. He could see the light through his eyes lids, feel the fog lifting as he moved from unconsciousness into awareness. House stretched and released a contented groan as he rolled onto his back. He felt good, great in fact. Rested and relaxed.

_Cuddy._

House grinned. They'd had sex. Great sex. Amazing sex.

He turned his head to look at her, reaching to pull her into his arms as he'd done last night.

She wasn't there.

The sheets were cold; that side of the bed, empty.

House turned abruptly, sitting up so he could look at the floor. Her clothes weren't there. His clothes weren't there. He collapsed back onto the mattress in defeat.

_Not again._

How was it possible? He hadn't taken the pills. He knew he didn't. He was sure of it.

House winced. If he was going crazy, he couldn't be sure of anything. And clearly he was going crazy. Maybe he had taken the drugs.

His hand trembled as he brought it to his forehead, rubbing his brow to fight back the headache he felt coming on with a vengeance.

He was pathetic. So desperate for her to want him…to love him.

Love. Whatever that was. It was as mythical as unicorns…and happiness. A pipe dream. Any hope for love, or even peace was removed with a chunk of thigh muscle. Who could really love a man like him? A bitter, angry cripple…a crazy cripple by all indication. He should never have left Mayfield.

House startled as he heard movement at the bedroom door.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

His eyes widened as she slipped into the room.

"I tried to be quiet, but hauling a bag of glass outside isn't that easy," she said as she walked toward him. "And by the way, either your neighbor has never seen a woman, or he's a real pervert."

Cuddy tightly gripped the mug she was holding as she slipped into bed beside him.

House could only stare.

"There wasn't any food in the kitchen," she said, propping her shoulders against the headboard as she sank down into the pillows. "But I did find enough coffee for a single cup."

He saw her. He heard her. But he couldn't believe it.

She grinned at him. "We'll have to share."

His eyes were wide, his mouth agape. He seemed to be struggling for air.

Cuddy frowned, searching his face in concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He didn't respond.

"House?" This time she touched his cheek with her empty hand.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "I thought…when I woke up…" He stammered.

Cuddy closed her eyes, realizing what had shaken him.

"You weren't there," he whispered.

She turned to place the cup on the side table before turning back to him and snuggling close.

"I'm here," she said softly, reassuring him.

His hands tentatively moved up her arm and shoulder, testing and confirming. Cuddy kissed him, her lips nipping and caressing; teasing.

"I was cleaning out the bath tub," she explained. "Someone tossed a mirror in it."

"What a Jerk." He cautiously responded.

Cuddy smiled, silently encouraging him as she kissed his cheek, chin, nose, and finally his lips.

"You know how I know this is real," she said between kisses.

His fingers slid down her waist to her hip, more comfortable and confident.

"In all of my fantasies," she said, pulling away from him. "You never smelled like a goat."

House watched as she hopped off the bed and turned to grin at him. She untied the sash of the robe she was wearing. His robe. He was only just now processing, accepting she was actually real and here. And then she parted the robe, pulling it from her body and letting it drop to the floor. She stood before him gloriously naked. Beautiful. Magnificent. So sexy. There would be no processing now. The blood from his brain was going south.

Cuddy turned to walk away from him.

"Would you prefer a bath or shower?" she asked. He could only stare at the sway of her hips until she disappeared into the bathroom.

This was a dream. The ultimate fantasy. Cuddy. Here. In his apartment. Naked.

She reappeared in the doorway. This could all be a trick of his mind. Exhaustion. Stress. Lack of sleep. Hell, maybe it was another hallucination. His eyes roamed her body as she braced her hands on each of the door frame, and he realized - for the moment - he might be okay with that.

"Seriously?" she said. He could hear the water running in the background. "You're just going to lay there. You're not going to join me?"

_Cuddy. Naked. Shower. _

House shook his head forcefully and leaped from the bed. Cuddy jumped in surprise and chuckled deep in her throat. She'd never seen him move so fast.

H H H

His hands explored every part of her, sliding over her soapy skin, memorizing every curve and dip. He only paused long enough to dip his head beneath the spray to rinse the shampoo she'd massaged into his scalp. As he pushed the excess water from his face, her hands slid over his shoulders and down his torso. She couldn't stop touching him either.

House knew she felt it: the familiar weight in the air between them had been enhanced, intensified by awe and wonder. Each touch between them was reverent, marked with emotions too long hidden and too powerful to deny.

Cuddy wrapped her arms around him, feeling breathless and weak at the knees. House hugged her close, enjoying the way she nuzzled the center of his chest and the way her body fit so perfectly against him.

"This isn't the way I usually fantasize about you," he said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

Cuddy chuckled. "So you finally admit it," she said, looking up at him. "You do think about me in the shower."

"There's nothing better to start the day than a 'bang your boss' fantasy," he said, but quickly corrected himself. "Well, except reality…I think…I'll let you know."

"I know what you mean," she said, and kissed his chin.

"Wait," he leaned back to look at her. "You think about me in the shower too?"

"Of course," Cuddy gave him a sexy grin. "Every time I touch myself."

His eyes widened briefly before he closed them and groaned.

Cuddy smiled and reached down to slide her hand along his shaft.

"Oh, God," he groaned again. She released a throaty laugh

"Is this more like your fantasies?"

Actually it wasn't. In his mind, they were always more passionate and hungry. He wasn't so uncertain, cautious and careful, thinking through every move and worrying over every word. In his mind, he took the lead and she responded with fervor. This was very different: the light touches, the caresses, the emotions. This was unfamiliar, and frightening.

His hands tenderly cupped her ass, not like a man compelled by physical desire to pull her against his erection, but more like a boy braving his first touch on the dance floor. A part of him felt confused and embarrassed; the other part could only relish this moment of wonder. How long had he watched this ass?

Cuddy cupped his balls, enjoying the way his muscles tightened and his breath caught as her hands explored. But then she felt his fingers slide along the crease of her ass and down between her legs. His arms were long, enveloping her body as his hands…

Cuddy gasped. House stopped breathing. His fingers had slid along the moist heat between her legs and had found her center.

"You're so wet," he whispered. She could hear a hint of awe beneath the desire.

What was new? She had no control over her body when it came to him. She wondered how he would feel when he realized that. What would he do with that power?

He lifted her against him, one hand sliding her cheeks apart as the other more boldly claimed her. Cuddy sensed what was coming, wanted his finger to slip inside and feel how she needed him. She wanted to be filled, to feel herself tightening around him as he tested and readied, as he imagined his cock sliding deep inside her. But they were in the shower, and she wondered if his leg would handle the inevitable results of any further exploration. She wasn't sure. She thought if she asked him, it would break the mood; it would insert a dark cloud of inadequacy and insecurity in a perfect moment and possibly bring everything to a halt. On the other hand, if she didn't do something to stop it, there would be no going back and if his leg didn't hold out an even worse reaction would follow.

Cuddy slid out of his arms, reaching around him to turn off the water. House frowned, puzzled by her withdrawal, but also distracted by the view. He watched as she quickly ran a towel through her hair, only lightly drying it, before sliding over her sleek body. He was mesmerized, unable to move as the fabric ran under her breasts, lifting and kneading before sliding down her abdomen and around her hips. By the time the towel slid down her legs, one at a time, House thought his erection could act as a curtain rod. He was achingly hard; her smirk told him she rather enjoyed his response.

Still, she surprised him when she tossed him a towel and walked out of the room without a glance back. Clearly she had more control of her faculties. He found himself anxious to discover what would cause that control to break.

When he stepped into the bedroom, she was placing a couple of towels on the bed. The good news was she wanted to continue what started in the shower; the bad news, she was still able to give a shit about getting the sheets wet.

_She's so anal._

He'd only just thought it when she stretched and bent in her endeavor, leaving her backside wonderfully open and exposed.

He was too hard to be cautious and tentative. Besides, this was a fantasy turned reality. No way was he passing it up.

Cuddy gasped and then groaned when his hands gripped her waist and she felt the strength of his erection against her. Her body immediately responded, pushing back into him, seeking more, expecting more.

His hands quickly slid up her sides and around to cup her breasts as he leaned over her, trapping her in the bent position. His hands slid around and over the tips of her nipples, encircling, teasing and gently trapping them between his thumb and forefinger. Cuddy felt the jolt of electric desire burning a quick path from breast to core.

House bent his knees slightly and pushed against her. She could feel him at her entrance; feel the heat build and the rhythm of her heart pounding in expectation.

"Do you know how many times I've wanted you like this?"

Cuddy shivered at the feel of his beard moving along her shoulder and the back of her neck, but she was shaken by what he said. It was a clear expression of lust and yet an element of unrequited longing underscored his words, imbuing his voice with a raw need that she understood on a fundamentally visceral level.

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye in an unguarded, hungry stare.

"Me too," she said in a throaty voice.

House growled. As one hand continued to titillate and arouse, the other traced the line of her spine and the slope of her hip guiding his shaft to ecstasy. She could feel his fingers at her lower lips, his knuckles at her anus; then she couldn't feel anything but the fullness of him as he pushed into her.

As House felt her walls gripping him, pulling him in and pushing him out with a rhythm that matched his own need, his eyes rolled back in his head at the sheer pleasure of it all. This was everything, everything he wanted and needed.

Cuddy didn't know what to do with her hands. She braced them on the mattress for support, but her body demanded full participation. She'd never felt so frantic for more: more sensation, more pleasure, more of him. She touched his hand and cupped her breast; she gripped his thigh then gripped the sheets, then slid her fingers between her legs and grazed her clit. She bowed and writhed, and when she thought she would go mad in the brief but endless quest toward orgasm, House pulled out of her.

"Please," Cuddy whimpered.

He knew the feeling. His body was screaming at him, frustrated, angry and frenzied. But he didn't want her to cum. Not that way, not when he wasn't watching, not when he wasn't solely responsible. He felt an almost animalistic need to dominate the experience, to ravage and control, to have exclusive rights and claim to her pleasure.

House turned her around and pushed her back onto the bed, his body covering hers. His lips immediately found hers, his tongue lapping and dueling with hers in a frenzied kiss. His hands were everywhere, her necks and breast and thighs and clit. It wasn't enough. She gripped his shoulders, scratched his back, pulled at his hips. She'd never wanted a man more than she wanted him at that moment.

She wrapped a leg over the back of his thigh; he nudged it aside, opening her wide as his lips traced an invisible line down the center of her body.

Cuddy thought she would hyperventilate. Her body was sensitized beyond belief. It shouldn't feel this way pre-orgasm. She shouldn't be jumping out of her skin. But she was, and she did.

When his lips sucked her clit, Cuddy thought she might be levitating. It was a brand of out-of-body experience and yet one she fully felt in every nerve and cell.

House was thorough, exhaustive in his quest to touch every nerve, find every dip and curve and crevice that held triggers of ecstasy and hidden delights. Cuddy felt spent, unable to consciously move or think. She could only feel and respond and sink into sensation.

He'd brought her to the edge several times, pulling back just when he felt the shaking and trembling as the tension was about to give.

"Please," she cried. "Please. Don't stop." She was delirious, pleading and desperate to go over the edge.

House watched and observed, studying each move and expression, memorizing her taste and feel. By the time he moved up her body and plunged into her, there was no stopping the descent. Together, they plunged into the light and fire of the abyss, free-falling into rapture. She was his gravity; he was her home. They collapsed into the warmth and safety of each others arms.

H H H H

He was trying to figure out how the day could be so perfect and yet not. Every ecstatic moment was followed by a flash of fear and frustration that left them completely out of sync. Less than a day in and the relationship was already a runaway train. They were doomed. Not that he had expected it to be any different. Of course they were doomed. He'd known that for years. It's why he'd been so reluctant to give into his feelings, to admit them. He'd known it would end up bad; he'd just thought it would be something he'd done, some senseless, selfish act that would have her walking away without looking back. He didn't think it would be for discomfort, or incompatibility, or whatever this was that had kept them in some altered state of being all day. He'd thought they'd last a little longer than a few hours. At least he'd hoped it would.

_Hope._ He knew better than to hope.

It had all been perfect: her, the sex, the way she curled against his body, the softness of her skin just at the curve of her ass, the way her fingers traced some invisible pattern on his chest. She fit. It was everything he could ever want. But then her phone had chirped and she'd read the message and everything had slowly gone to shit.

"_Let them handle it," he insisted, but she was already dialing the number._

"_This is an emergency," she said._

"_It's always an emergency," he said, taking the phone from her hand. "What's the point in having a staff if you can never take a break?"_

"_This is serious," she reached for the phone, but he wasn't giving it up. He held it out of her reach._

"_So is this," he argued._

"_House, Richardson is missing so there's not a neurosurgeon on the premises."_

"_He's never fully present when he's there, so who cares?"_

"_He's the only neurosurgeon we've got right now," she impatiently explained. "He's been basically chained to the hospital because we could lose our status as a level one trauma center if we don't have one onsite 24/7."_

_House sighed. Clearly this was a bigger problem than he'd first thought._

"_If we don't find him, I'll have to shut down the ER, move all of the patients…"_

"_Basically be there all weekend playing wonder woman," he said. "I get it."_

_He handed her the phone and tossed the covers aside so he could get out of bed. Obviously the playtime was over. He had no desire to lay there and listen to her manage the morons._

_Cuddy was already dialing the number when she realized he was getting dressed._

"_It won't take long," she said, frowning as she watched him step into his jeans._

"_Right," he bit back sarcastically, a little more harshly than he'd intended._

"_Don't be this way," she sighed. _

_He pulled a t-shirt out of the chest of drawers._

"_I don't have a choice," she pointed out. "I have to take care of this."_

"_Then take care of it."_

_He pulled the shirt over his head and slipped his arms through the holes. _

"_House…" It was as if she were pleading. Lisa Cuddy. Begging. It wasn't as satisfying as it had been earlier, when she'd been pleading for him to bring her to orgasm. _

"_It's not as if I wouldn't rather be making love with you," she said._

_Those grey eyes looked at him with such vulnerability and fear. _

_Fear. It was the last thing they needed. Fear was the most damaging emotion they could have between them. It would slowly destroy the trust and love that had brought them together, that had her sitting in his bed, naked down to the waist as the sheet pooled around her hips and legs._

_She hadn't called it sex, he noted. It was making love. He slowly stepped over to the bed, the light in his eyes growing tender and gentle as he braced his hands on the mattress and leaned toward her._

_She loved him. She wanted him. He needed to remember that._

_House dipped his head low and kissed each of her nipples before kissing her lightly on the lips._

"_Hurry up," he said. "I'm gonna go do some things."_

_Cuddy smiled, a bit half-hearted, but it was a smile. _

"_Don't try to tempt me with that sultry smile," he said as he walked toward the door. He could feel her eyes following him. "Some of us have responsibilities, you know."_

When Cuddy found him in the living room, she thought the crisis had been averted. He'd been patient and understanding, he'd given her space to deal with the issues and make the calls she'd needed to make. He'd actually put her needs (and the hospital's) first. It was a bit unsettling, which was ridiculous. She should be happy, relieved at least. And she was. She was. He was trying, and that warmed her heart even more than finding he'd made her breakfast, an impressive feat given there was nothing in the apartment as she'd pointed out earlier.

"_How'd you do this?" She was amazed to see the coffee table set for breakfast with a very large omelet plated in the middle, which apparently they would be sharing, a carafe of orange juice and a bottle of champagne._

"_I'm a man of many talents."_

"_This I know," she said as she came to stand in front of him. "But I don't think your wood produces fruit juice."_

"_But you don't know," House grinned. "Maybe you just didn't work it enough."_

_Cuddy laughed in that throaty tone that turned him on almost as much as the sight of her in his t-shirt. Almost._

"_Yet," she winked and sank to the floor at the table. "You made this? Really?"_

"_It's amazing the groceries you can borrow from an envious pervert."_

_Cuddy cut into the edge of the omelet and breathed in the aroma that shot out with the steam._

"_Oh, that smells so good," she said. "I'm starving."_

He'd loved watching her eat, seeing the pleasure that had her drifting into a dreamland as she savored each bite. She'd been relaxed and enjoying herself.

Even when he'd taken out a saber and suggested removing the cork from the champagne bottle in standard sabrage fashion, she'd chuckled and teased: "There are better ways to pop a cork."

They'd toasted their new beginning and shared a mimosa as they finished breakfast. When he'd moved to clean up the dishes she stopped him, removing the t-shirt she was wearing and pouring the remainder of the champagne over her breast.

Of course, he had no trouble cleaning that up. His tongue did an amazing job at removing every bit of liquid and the remaining residue from her body. She'd returned the favor, though there wasn't a drop of champagne on him.

But then he'd suggested they go to the arts and crafts festival in a small town north of Vernon. How easy the love train could jump the track.

She'd said they should stay in; he said sitting vigil by the phone wasn't going to change what was happening at the hospital. She said she needed to be available; he said she couldn't let go. She argued it wasn't just about the hospital; she needed to be available for Rachel.

"_You're just making excuses," he snapped. "You're lying to me and you're lying to yourself."_

"_That's not fair," she said. "I'm a mother and I'm the Dean of Medicine. I can't just runaway with you on a whim. I have responsibilities and they don't disappear just because we're having sex."_

_He stilled. So now it was just sex._

"_You wouldn't have shown up here last night if you hadn't already made sure Rachel was covered," he pointed out, his frustration intensifying as anxiety gripped him. "And you're not a neurosurgeon. You can't fill in and resolve this problem. You're just a traffic director, and if the worst happens you'll be demanding everyone follow the procedure that is already in place and that they already know. You don't have to be there."_

"_The hospital is my responsibility!"_

"_This isn't a disaster; it's just a threat of one. You're having second thoughts. You're running."_

"_I'm not running," she said. "It's just important that I be available if…"_

"_This is important!" he interrupted, his voice biting and irritated. "We're important!"_

_Cuddy flinched and her body grew taut and tense, defensive._

_House took a deep breath and ran his hand along his brow, forcing himself to calm down._

"_What's this really about?" she asked._

_He paused before answering._

"_Us," he said. "I just think we should take some time for us, without all the distractions and demands."_

"_I'd love that," she quickly responded. "But I'm not sure that's a reasonable expectation right now."_

"_And I'm not sure it ever will be."_

"_What are you saying?"_

"_You're always going to be a mother and the head of the hospital," he sighed. "And they will always be more important than anything between us."_

_Cuddy felt her heart skip a beat and her chest tighten._

"_I'm not sure I have a place," he said._

_Her hand started to shake and she crossed her arms at her chest. Her eyes were growing cloudy with guilt. _

"_You're the man I love," she whispered. _

_He didn't want her guilt._

"_Those are just words," he said, dropping to the sofa and crossing his arms at his chest._

_She stared at him for a long time. Well, it felt like a long time; it was probably just a few minutes. _

"_You're right," she finally said. "We do need time."_

_House looked up at her in surprise. Cuddy moved to stand in front of him, pushing his legs together and she moved to sit on his lap, straddling him._

"_Here." She gave him her phone. "The day is yours, but I'm trusting you to let me know if something comes through that really needs my attention."_

It hadn't been a difficult decision. In fact, it wasn't a decision at all. She'd wanted to spend the day with him, to explore what was between them and nurture the seed that had been planted. How could he doubt that? She'd come to him last night; she'd taken a very big step and opened herself up to him, trusting this time would be different, better. This time wouldn't end with mocking and groping.

_You're running._

She wasn't. After what they'd shared last night, and this morning! God, she'd never felt so alive. The way he touched her, kissed her, the way he looked at her with such raw need, the way he filled her and…Cuddy shivered. She didn't understand how he could believe she'd want to run, or even be capable of it.

_You run from what you want._

Historically, she had. He was right about that. But this was different. She wanted to be with him more than she'd ever wanted anything: enough to risk coming to him last night, enough to bare her heart and expose herself when there was every reason to be cautious. How could he not see that?

_I'm not sure I have a place._

She'd been stunned by his uncertainty, puzzled by the anxiety she'd felt emanating from him. Granted, the situation at the hospital was a distraction for her, but his reaction seemed a little extreme. It wasn't as if a declaration of love removed all responsibilities from her life. Any more than the lack of a love declaration removed the weight of commitment.

He was thinking too much, analyzing it to death. And now she was too, trying to figure out how everything could be the same and yet so different. They always argued and fought and pushed the limits; sex wouldn't change that. And yet it had. Somehow what had been foreplay was now an invisible thread of insecurity weaving its way through every conversation. It was his willingness to show her the depth of his insecurity that had broken the wall of control and responsibility that was distracting her. It was his honesty that kept her from falling into her standard pattern of behavior, burying herself in work and running to the safety of the known when things felt too precarious. Instead, she'd climbed onto the back of his bike with an enthusiasm that surprised him.

"_I thought I'd have to convince you to ride with me." _

He wanted to whisk her away, to get away from Princeton and the demands of the hospital, to get away from any expectation that pulled their focus away from each other. It was selfish, and totally romantic.

"_Are you kidding me?" she grinned and pulled the helmet he'd given her onto her head. "I have a motorcycle fantasy."_

"_Don't tell me you've always wanted to be a biker babe."_

"_Hardly," she said as she snapped the chin strap. _

"_It's the leather, right?" he said. "You have a kidnapping and bondage fantasy."_

"_You wish."_

"_I can strap you up and give you a matching tat." He waggled his brows suggestively. _

"_You don't have a tattoo," she pointed out. He couldn't deny it; she's explored every part of his body the past few hours._

"_We could get them," he said, climbing onto the bike and gesturing for her to climb on behind him. "You could get 'property of Greg House' printed on your inner thigh."_

"_Great idea," she grinned, and slid on the seat behind him. "You can get 'property of Lisa Cuddy' on your penis."_

"_Nah," he said. "That would barely cover a fourth of my erection."_

_Cuddy laughed, wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear: "Take me for a ride."_

He had. He'd followed the winding roads through farm country and several quaint towns on the way to the mountain village where the art and music festival was being held.

They'd gone on a tree canopy tour. Cuddy had been concerned with how he would climb the ladder to the platform, so she'd spent time talking with the guide about the design of the zip and how to they could accommodate the handicap. While she'd been working to understand the process, House had sketched a design for a simple pulley system using the available straps, harnesses and supplies he'd seen in the shed. Fifteen minutes later, they'd been lifted to the platform and the company now had handicap capabilities.

She'd laughed and screamed like the girl he'd known back in school, like the woman she kept hidden beneath her controlled façade. They'd had a blast. That is until he'd created a scene, embarrassing the young kid who was helping her remove her harness and infuriating her with his crude remarks. They'd argued, of course. Cuddy calling him rude and demanding he behave; House calling her a prude and telling her to lighten up.

By the time they arrived at the festival, they'd formed a truce. As they walked through the arts and crafts tents constructed in the center of town, they were talking and laughing with the ease of longtime friends. House had held her hand, guiding her through the small crowd and impatiently waiting as she looked through photographs, painting and pottery. He mocked her tastes; she called him a Neanderthal.

Her phone rang twice. Each time she jumped, automatically reaching for it and anxiously watching as House looked down at the display. It was Wilson. Both times. And each time House had ignored the call.

"_He's worried about you," she said._

"_I told him I was fine when he called this morning," House grumbled. "He doesn't have to play nursemaid."_

"_You talked to him this morning?"_

_House nodded. "While you were making your calls."_

"_So he knows we're together?"_

"_Of course not," House said. "He's calling you for the standard back-up. He wants you to tag team with him to save me from eminent relapse."_

"_So let me talk to him. I'll explain…"_

"_He doesn't need to know our business," he said. "He needs to work on his own life and stop snooping in mine. He needs to stop playing the hero in my life just because it makes him feel better about himself."_

"_Maybe it's not even about you," she suggested. "He hasn't been calling your phone."_

_House paused and scanned his phone before showing her the display._

"_Nine missed calls," he said. "My phone is on vibrate."_

_Cuddy grimaced. _

"_Exactly," House said, slipping the phone back in his pocket and taking her hand._

House had guided her to the music tents. She'd begged him to play something for her on the guitar in one, the piano in another, but he'd said they weren't open to the public and pretended to be appalled that she'd even suggest he break the rules. When they'd stopped for lunch in the barbeque pavilion that was offering Karaoke, she'd asked him to sing for her.

House rolled his eyes and suggested she get some other putz to play the romantic fool while he went to get their food. She'd responded by climbing on stage and singing Beast of Burden, driving every man in the place mad in spite of the fact her entire focus was on him. Every teasing word and sultry look. Every seductive move was for him.

By the time she stepped off the stage, he was sure his erection would tear a hole in his jeans. Like any good cock-tease, she'd thought it was funny. He hadn't been amused. He'd been testy and biting through lunch, until she'd stormed off, disappearing into the crowd.

He'd found her at the ice cream stand, staring into the crowd and seeing nothing. She was worrying, if the nervous movement of her fingers and the crease on her brow told him anything. And they did. They always did.

_She startled when he crept up behind her, slipping his arm around to present her with a single red rose. She turned quickly to look at him as he gazed at her apologetically. _

"_A red rose for passion," he said. "Maybe a little too much?"_

_Her eyes softened as she took the rose and brought it to her nose, breathing in the fragrance._

_House pulled another stem from behind his back. This one salmon colored with a vibrant pink along the edge of the petals._

"_Because you are exotically beautiful," he said. Cuddy blushed; House smiled tenderly._

_The next was yellow._

"_Because you're my friend." _

_He knew she caught the meaning and importance in the words when her eyes locked with his. So he presented her the final rose._

"_White," he said. "Because being with you makes everything feel new." _

_Cuddy felt her eyes filling with tears._

"_Who's the romantic putz?" she teased, but she stared up at him adoringly._

_House shrugged. "Blame it on the hard-on."_

He'd rented a canoe for the hour and had taken her out on the lake, hoping to ease the tension that had built between them. The conversation had flowed easy, filled with laughter and teasing. Then she'd flashed him. He'd dropped an oar in the water and almost tipped the boat trying to reach it. She'd rewarded him with a blow job. It had confirmed for House that she was indeed the perfect woman.

The feeling was quickly extinguished when they'd stopped into the local dive for a beer and a game of pool. House had gotten a little too competitive with the local sharks and had used her for bait. The guys got crude and handsy; House got angry and mouthy. They'd only barely made an escape before a fight broke out. It had been a tense journey back to his apartment.

Now, as he spoke with Wilson, finally answering his calls, Cuddy felt the anxiety she'd kept at bay all day finally grip her.

"What do you need, Wilson?" House snapped. He'd been on the phone with him for the past five minutes trying to reassure him. "I told you I'm fine. Do you need me to stop by the lab and let them take my blood? Should I pee in a cup? Oh, wait, I can stop by your place and leave you a large stool sample!"

Cuddy rolled her eyes; House released an exaggerated sigh.

"You already stopped by and snooped around," he said. "You know I haven't been passed out on the floor for the past few hours."

Cuddy looked around, wondering if Wilson might have figured out she was with him, if they'd left any clues.

"I'm not alone," House said. Cuddy smirked, already picturing the look on Wilson's face. "I called a hooker! Now stop calling and go fuck Sam like a good boyfriend. She can thank me later."

Cuddy frowned.

"Goodbye, Wilson!" House hung up the phone and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. "The guy doesn't give up."

Anxiety transformed to fear. The doubts she'd carried throughout the day bubbled to the surface and he felt uncomfortable. Awkward. No, she felt hurt.

"I should go," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear as she turned away from him. "I'm supposed to pick-up Rachel."

His eyes widened, stunned by her need to escape even though he'd known she was angry, even though he'd felt the distance growing between them.

House felt a sense of panic overtake him.

"Don't," he rushed to stop her. "I know I screwed up. I should have kept my mouth shut and just played pool, but you know how I am. I'm an idiot, and those morons were…"

"Why don't you want Wilson to know about us?" Cuddy interrupted.

"What?" House floundered, shaking his head slightly in an attempt to process this change of direction.

"You've been ignoring his calls all day, and now you just lied to him," she said.

"He's being a jerk."

Cuddy sighed and leaned against the door frame, her hands crossed in front of her. "He's being Wilson," she said. "He's not doing anything he hasn't always done."

"And I am?" He sounded defensive. It was a childish response, he knew.

"Let's not do this," she said.

The knot that had been growing in his stomach became a weight against his chest and lungs.

"I shouldn't have assumed this was something you'd want," she said. "Or something you're ready for." She looked down at her shoe, nervously putting weight on the toe as she considered her next words.

"We can keep it a secret," she said. "Or slow things down if that's what…"

"What are you talking about?" House said, taking a tentative step toward her. "This is what I want. You know that. You've known that for months."

Cuddy looked up at him, her brow furrowed, her eyes confused.

"Then why not tell Wilson?" she asked.

"He wouldn't believe me."

"You could easily pass the phone to me and all doubt would vanish."

"Then let's call him," he said, turning to reach for his phone. Whatever was causing this ridiculous train of thought, he wanted to end it now.

"No," Cuddy stopped him. "I don't want to force you into anything. That's only going to make it worse."

"Make what worse?"

House searched her eyes, searching for clues, seeking to understand the thoughts and feelings behind this nonsense. She couldn't hold his stare.

"You can't think I want to keep us a secret," he said. "I wouldn't hesitate to tell the world. I'd take out an ad. Hell, I'd gladly yell it from a balcony, but that didn't turn out so well last time."

She turned away from him and walked to the fireplace, leaning her hand against the mantel as she considered his words. His wounds were still raw. She had to remember that; she had to see things from his perspective. That was harder than she'd expected; primarily because she was tormented by her own doubts and fears. They'd become demons as the day progressed, causing her to question everything that happened between them.

House watched her from the kitchen door. He could see her working through a puzzle, organizing her thoughts and feelings into columns, constructing a mental spreadsheet of pros and cons that would determine their future.

_She's going to leave._

He knew it. As many good moments as they'd had, there were just too many dips and jerks in the ride. She was getting whiplash and things weren't even as bad as they were sure to get. The foreshadowing was clear, and it was causing her to remember all of the reasons she'd avoided a relationship with him. She was anticipating the hurt and disappointment; she was anticipating his failure.

Cuddy turned to look at him. His heart stopped.

"Do you want this, House?"

_Do I want this? _

Talk about a frustrating moment.

"No," he said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "I've just been tripping over my dick for months now hoping for this NOT to happen."

He wanted to scream. He'd spent the last year practically pining for her. He'd been terrified this morning when he thought it might not have been real. Why couldn't she see how desperate he was to make this work, to make her happy? Everything he'd done today, or tried to do today, had been about showing her how he felt. Granted, it hadn't gone as smoothly as he'd wanted. He hadn't even been able to do half the things he'd wanted. He had a way of screwing things up. He was useless when it came to this kind of thing. And now he felt lost. How would he survive losing her before they'd even had a chance?

Cuddy was biting her lip and her head was tilted to the side. Her right eye squinted slightly and he detected a slight tick at her temple.

House narrowed his eyes and watched her closely, alerted by that certain "tell" in her expression he'd learned over the years.

_She was afraid._

His eyes were piercing and probing, reaching into the depths of her stormy eyes for the truth.

_She doesn't know. _

House internally stepped back, moving away from his own tumult of emotion as comprehension dawned.

House came to stand in front of her, stepping into her space, but not touching her. His eyes never left hers.

"I want this more than anything," he finally said. "I'd be packing my bags and moving in with you if I thought you'd let me."

Her eyes widened in surprise. He smiled tenderly.

"Do you want to move in because you want to live with me," she asked. "Or because you're afraid I'll leave?"

He hadn't expected that question; couldn't have anticipated the speed with which she'd turned it on him, or the intensity of her stare.

House didn't respond. He wasn't sure he knew how.

"You're convinced this is going to fall apart," she said, the frustration she'd been feeling was heavy in her tone. "This whole day has been about you trying to build a safety net. To create some kind of tether or hold that will keep me tied to you so you don't feel so afraid. That's why you haven't told Wilson. That's why you've been trying to prove you are adventurous and exciting and the perfect companion."

"And here I thought I proved that in the bedroom this morning," he snarked.

She wasn't diverted.

"You've been trying to build memories so when everything falls apart, maybe the good will outweigh the bad," she said, growing more confident in her analysis with every blink of his eye, every controlled, subtle movement of his jaw. "You're trying to pack it all in because you just know when I walk out that door I'm going to remember you're an ass and decide you're not worth the trouble. "

House gulped and Cuddy knew she'd nailed it.

"Oh, my God. That's it," she said, shaking her head in dismay. "That's been the plan all day. Except that didn't turn out so well, and now you're wondering how you're going to stop me from leaving. Because obviously that's what I'll do. What else could I do? We're doomed, right?"

She saw him flinch, but he surprised her when he bit back: "And, what about you?"

The fire of defense ignited in his eyes as he glared at her. "You've been trying to control things since the moment you got up," he said. "Cleaning up my mess, reassuring me, pretending to play the perfect girlfriend when all you really wanted was to get the phone call that would be your escape route out of the hell you put yourself in."

"That's not true!"

"You jumped every time the phone rang."

"I thought it would be the hospital," she said. "I didn't WANT it to be."

"Bullshit!" he said. "You've spent the whole day being the administrator, trying to create order in chaos. You've been doing your thing: lecturing and dictating and insisting I follow the rules. You were trying to force me to color in your lines because that's the only way the fantasy you've created that made you show up here in the first place will ever come about."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"The only time you let go was during sex."

Cuddy lashed out in anger. "Going away with you in the first place was letting go," she said. "Getting up on that stage and singing to you was letting go! Giving you a blow job – IN PUBLIC – was letting go! Don't tell me…"

"It was a strategic move," he disregarded her words. "You're not kidding anyone; except maybe yourself. All of that was part of a plan to make sure the playing field was leveled and you would have all the power plays."

Cuddy stepped back, gasping for air as she felt the blow.

"The only time you actually lived in the moment and allowed yourself to feel what's between us and respond naturally to it was when I was inside you."

Cuddy turned away from him, her head spinning at his words.

He reached for her.

"Don't," she said, pulling away from his touch.

House waited. His world was crashing down around him. Every hope and dream, every chance for happiness was slipping through his fingers, and he didn't know what to do or say. He was fighting for his life, and yet he had the feeling it just came across as him fighting her. He didn't know how to stop it from spiraling out of control.

Cuddy was falling. She was slipping into an abyss with nothing to hold on to, nothing to break the fall. She didn't know what to think or how she should respond. And she was scared. She was really scared. It wasn't just a vague feeling haunting her at this point. It was a gripping fear. She was losing him and it was her own damn fault.

He was right. It wasn't that she'd come to him with some grand vision of how it would be; it wasn't that she expected some fairy tale ending for them. He was wrong about that. She wasn't so naïve. No, it was much simpler than that. She was just relationally inept. She was a total failure at permitting a natural evolution of response. Instead, she controlled and manipulated and even transformed, trying to force a square peg in a round hole. She was a total screw up, securing his fears with every move then reacting in the worst way.

"Hey," he whispered.

Cuddy heard him, but was too busy berating herself to respond.

She'd accused him of being afraid they were doomed, when she'd felt the same. They'd been planning for disaster and it was becoming a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Cuddy turned to look at him, this beautiful, broken man that had kept her entangled in him for so many years. Such a fatalistic approach was counte-rintuitive to the natural gravitational pull that existed between them. As much as her mind said this was a disaster waiting to happen, her heart and soul screamed it was right. It felt right. Everything about House felt right. It didn't make sense and yet when she was with him – allowed herself to truly be with him - everything made sense.

House understood. As their eyes locked and that palpable current that so often moved between them transmitted the truth, House understood what she needed. His fingers gently brushed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

Cuddy melted beneath his tender touch. She knew instinctively she would never grow tired of him, never grow bored with the way he challenged her, the way he forced her to look in the mirror and face truth, the way he needed her to help him deal with his own truth. She'd never grow tired of the gentle man he kept locked away beneath that gruff exterior.

"I love you."

Cuddy gasped. She hadn't realized how much she needed to hear the words, how afraid she'd been that she was reading him wrong, that she was defining his need as love and placing more emphasis on their relationship than was actually there.

House felt the air shift around them, saw the weight lift from her chest, the fear dissipate from her eyes dissipate, and smiled. He could only marvel at the change. The words meant nothing; the confirmation meant everything.

"As if you're surprised," he teased. "You've known it all along."

And she had. He knew that. What she didn't know is how committed he was to that love, to her. There had been too many games between them, too many missed opportunities, too many lies. How could she confidently step into a relationship with him without the certainty that he was not only acknowledging his feelings for her, but embracing them.

Cuddy kissed him, her lips barely touching his at first, but then exploring and nipping. House pulled her to him, pushing his tongue into her mouth, insisting on more. Demanding more.

_More._

She felt the pieces fall into place.

Cuddy pulled away from him, giving him a provocative grin as she took his hand and lead him down the hall to his bedroom.

For the record," he said from behind her. "I'm okay with that whole take charge and control thing when it comes to the bedroom. I have a Dominatrix-Cuddy fantasy."

Cuddy laughed. It was that throaty laugh he found so sexy.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, and pushed him into a seated position on the edge of the bed. "I have a submissive-House fantasy."

House grinned lecherously.

"Want to tie me up?"

"You have no idea," she said. He groaned; he could get used to having such a frequent erection.

House watched as she turned away from him and opened his closet, curious what surprises she would bring.

"I only have two ties," he said. "But I have handcuffs in the drawer."

Cuddy gave him a heated look and dropped the duffel bag she'd found in the closet onto the bed.

"Which drawer?"

House didn't answer. He was distracted.

"What are you doing?" he asked frowning down at the bag.

"I'm going to pack some of your things," she said as she pulled open his drawers and began pulling items out. "We'll just take enough clothes for a few days for now until we figure out how we'll fit all your stuff into the house."

House watched her, stunned.

"We could knock out a wall and build an extension onto the back," she continued. "Or maybe you want to buy a new place? One with a music room? Or an office?"

House stopped her, taking her hand and pulling her to him, his hands resting on her waist.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." She kissed him firmly on the lips and returned to the packing.

"You want me to move in with you?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I just want to make it hard for you to leave."

House frowned. She stepped between his legs and ran her hands through his hair as she gazed at him, her eyes full of love and respect.

"You're the most amazing man I've ever known," she said. "You'll always will be the most amazing man I've ever known. Nothing is going to change that."

"How do you know?"

She thought his voice quivered and she pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Because this feels right," she said. "You feel right."

She felt the tension leave his shoulders, sliding down his back and disappearing as he buried his face in her cleavage.

"You have no idea," he said and fell back on the bed, pulling her down with him. He rolled her beneath him, covering her body with his as his hands slipped beneath her clothes.

"We're going to be late picking up the kid," she heard him mutter against her neck.

"I expected as much," she said, her hands tearing at his shirt. "That's why I told her I'd be there two hours later than I told you."

House lifted his head to look down at her. "You're such a freak," he said, pretending to be appalled.

Cuddy slid her tongue along her lip and grinned saucily at him. "Are you complaining?"

"Nope," he said and moved down her body to remove her pants and panties. "You'd only argue and start a war."

"And you're a man of peace."

House moved between her thighs and grinned up at her. "And by peace, I mean…" His tongue flicked the tip of her clit.

"A piece," Cuddy gasped.

"Not a chance," he said, lifting her legs to his shoulder so he could move in deeper. "I want it all."

And that's what she gave him.

THE END


End file.
